Through the Keyhole
by Boogum
Summary: A collection of Draco/Ginny drabbles and one-shots.
1. Captive

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine.**

**A/N: To let you understand what I'm doing here, these will just be a collection of drabbles and one-shots that I feel are too small to be stand-alone stories. Most will probably come from the DG Forum at FFnet, as does this one here. They are not connected and are more like glimpses into a DG romance, hence the title "Through the Keyhole".**

**This drabble was written for the OSS Drabble Challenge at the DG Forum on FFnet. The rules were to write a short drabble inspired from a post in the One Sentence Story thread. **

**Mine is inspired by WishfulWhisper's sentence (post#152) of the _One Sentence Story_ thread:**

**"_Draco's ice-gray eyes surveyed with appreciation the sight on display before him, creamy legs and tumbling red curls against a backdrop of rich, velvet green; only Ginny Weasley could look that good tied up."_**

**Captive**

Draco's ice-grey eyes surveyed with appreciation the sight on display before him, creamy legs and tumbling red curls against a backdrop of rich, velvet green; only Ginny Weasley could look that good tied up.

A smirk curled his lips, and then he was advancing towards her in slow, taunting steps that made her eyes narrow with each purposeful tread. There was enough venom in those chestnut depths to have made any lesser man falter, but Draco was not one to be intimidated.

He stopped and knelt down with feline grace before her. "Ginevra," he said in a velvety voice. "So nice of you to join me." His eyes roamed her body covered only by a scanty nightdress. "It seems you're a little under-dressed for the occasion, but I'm sure we can use that to our advantage."

Ginny shouted something through her gag.

Draco laughed softly. "What's that? I didn't quite hear you."

Her eyes blazed with unrestrained fury.

Pausing just to punish her a moment longer, he reached out and removed the gag from her mouth.

Ginny didn't hesitate. She spat in his face.

Draco calmly wiped the spit from his face. "That wasn't very nice. I think I'm going to have to teach you some manners."

Ginny just glared at him.

He smiled and leaned in close, hearing with satisfaction the soft catch of her breath. "Now then, little Weasley, how shall I punish you?"

Ginny said nothing. He could hear her breathing becoming more ragged by the second, and knowing that he finally had her, he closed the distance between them and placed his lips firmly against hers.

At first she resisted, but as his kisses became more demanding, so did her barriers finally crumble.

Draco smiled in triumph. Now she was his.


	2. A Weasley Christmas

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine.**

**A/N: This drabble was written for the OSS Drabble Challenge at the DG Forum on FFnet. The rules were to write a short drabble inspired from a post in the One Sentence Story thread. **

**This one is credited to Aerileigh's sentence, post #159.**

"_**Draco slowly held up the vibrant lemon-yellow article of clothing, and Ginny had to stifle a giggle at her blushing husband as his mother-in-law forcibly assisted him in pulling his first ever Weasley Christmas jumper over his garnet ears."**_

A Weasley Christmas

They all knew what was coming. It was a tradition at the Weasley home, one that had been carried out since all the Weasley kids could remember. Ginny had just conveniently forgotten to mention that fact to her husband.

Molly picked up a rather lumpy package and read the label. "This one is for...Ah, this one is for Draco." She smiled fondly at the blond man, who gave a forced smile in return, and handed him the present.

Ginny knew by his raised eyebrow that he had just judged the tacky wrapping paper at one sickle. She inwardly grinned at the wound his snobbish sensibilities would endure when he saw what was inside.

Unlike her brothers, who often attacked their presents like wild animals, Draco carefully removed the wrapping with what could only be described as haughty elegance. His expression, which had been resigned at most, suddenly froze, and a light flush stole to his cheeks; gradually spreading until his normally pale face rivalled the red of his wife's hair.

Draco slowly held up the vibrant lemon-yellow article of clothing, and Ginny had to stifle a giggle at her blushing husband as his mother-in-law forcibly assisted him in pulling his first ever Weasley Christmas jumper over his garnet ears. Her brothers were not so thoughtful, Ron laughing so hard that he actually fell off his chair.

"You're one of us now, Malfoy," said Fred, slapping a hand on Draco's back.

"You've even got a black D for Draco," piped in George.

"Like a Hufflepuff," snorted Ron, and once again started chuckling.

Draco was too polite to make a retort, especially under the expectant gaze of Molly, and so resigned himself with another forced smile.

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," he gritted out. "It's very...warm."

Molly beamed at him and then fluttered off to hand out another of her knitted jerseys.

Ginny smiled proudly at her husband. He had passed the first test, and tonight he would get his reward.

But first that awful jumper would have to come off.


	3. Domestics and Toys

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine.**

**A/N: This was written for a challenge at the DG Forum on FFnet. **

**Here are the guidelines:**

**Must be Draco/Ginny centred, but can have side pairings. Must contain the following line: "Splotched if you must, (Draco or Ginny), but **_**not **_**lumpy!" Must be humorous.**

**Length: 300-500 words**

**Domestics and Toys**

There was an art to making playdough. Unfortunately, Draco had yet to discover that art.

"I don't think Orion would really care for pink playdough," said Ginny, shifting the bottle of pink food colouring away from her husband. "Why don't you use the blue?"

Draco made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a huff. Of course, Malfoys don't huff—or so Draco claimed—they only made cultivated sounds of exasperation. In any case, the decidedly irritated Malfoy picked up the blue food colouring and poured it into the mixture.

"What is the point of this?" demanded Draco sourly. "I could just buy Orion a toy broom. I'm sure he'd have more fun playing with that than this foul-smelling blob."

"I'll have you know that playdough is something that muggle children and wizards alike have been known to enjoy. Besides, I'd rather have my son putting his creativity to use by building things out of a 'foul-smelling blob' than becoming quidditch obsessed at four-years-old because he only has a broom to play with."

"You only say that because you never had a toy broom."

"And _you_ only say that because you never had playdough."

Draco lifted his nose snootily. "Why would I want to play with something that resembles cat sick?"

Ginny scrunched up her face in distaste. "Do you have to put it like that?"

"You can't deny that is what it looks like."

His wife heaved a sigh. "Just keep stirring. It won't resemble cat sick when you're finished."

Draco scowled but complied.

***…Some time later…***

"Um, Ginny? I think you should look at this..."

Ginny walked over to the bench where Draco had placed the tray of finished playdough. One eyebrow rose. "Really, Draco, you can make the most intricate of potions, but you can't follow a simple recipe on how to make playdough?"

Draco did not have the grace to blush. Nor did he admit his mistake. He simply scowled and declared that the whole thing had been stupid anyway. They would have done better to get the toy broom.

"You just don't get it, do you?" exclaimed Ginny. "This isn't just about giving him a toy to play with; it's about giving him something that we've prepared with our own hands—our own hearts."

"You know, Ginny, it wasn't your overt displays of sentimentality that prompted me to marry you."

"Oh, shut up," retorted his wife, though a smile twitched at her lips.

Just then a small, blond boy came bounding into the room. "Is it ready? Is it? Is it?"

Ginny laughed. "Yes, it's ready. Your father made it himself."

Draco handed the playdough to his son. Orion took one look at the substance in his hand and then raised critical eyes to his father.

"What do you call this?"

"Playdough?" answered Draco, if a little tentatively.

Orion shook his head solemnly. "Splotchy if you must, Father, but _not_ lumpy."

Ginny let out a snort of laughter. Draco, on the other hand, was left to piece together whatever dignity he had left after being shredded to pieces by his four-year-old son.

One thing was certain. He would never doubt the significance of playdough again.

**A/N: So, I may have used 'father' instead of 'Ginny or Draco', and I may have gone twenty or so words over the limit, but I had fun writing it, and that's really what counts in my books.**


	4. The Smirking Pumpkin

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine.**

**A/N: This was written for Roma's writing challenge at the DG Forum. **

**The rules are that it must be DG centric, include a misused piece of fruit or vegetable, and be ****300-700 words.**

**The Smirking Pumpkin**

Ginny gritted her teeth. It just wasn't fair. Everyone else was off watching the Quidditch game between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and here she was stuck carving pumpkins to decorate the Great Hall as punishment for something she hadn't even done.

Stupid Halloween. Stupid Professors. Stupid Draco Malfoy.

Her eyes glared at the blond sitting opposite her. It was all _his_ fault. He was the one who had been trying to get into that locked door. She had just happened to be walking down the corridor at the wrong time. Not that the professors had believed that.

She gouged an eye into the pumpkin, a dark scowl plastered on her face. The other eye soon followed, and then she cut out the mouth. That was when she realised it was smirking at her; smirking at her just like _he_ had when she had got in trouble because of his actions.

Ginny gripped her knife tighter. With purposeful determination she dug the knife into the pumpkin and proceeded to disfigure the smirking face.

"You know, Weasley," drawled the blond. "I don't think they had the mutilation of pumpkins in mind when they set us this task."

"What are you going to do about it? Start a protection act for the abuse and misuse of vegetables?"

"Now, Weasley, that's not nice. Vegetables have feelings too."

"I guess that makes them more human than you," responded Ginny with false sweetness.

Draco laughed. He actually laughed.

"My, my, we are feisty today," he observed, his grey eyes glinting with amusement.

Ginny just sniffed haughtily and returned to her now disfigured pumpkin. She could feel him still watching her, and after a few minutes of trying to ignore his smirking gaze, finally snapped and raised her face back to his.

"What? If you've got something to say to me, just say it, otherwise stop staring at me and carve your stupid pumpkin. It's you're fault we're here, anyway," she grumbled under her breath.

"You really don't like me, do you, Weasley?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't under the impression that I was supposed to like you."

Draco just laughed again and then continued carving the face on his own pumpkin.

She stared at him. He did not stare back.

Irritation built up inside her. How dare he make cryptic remarks like that and then ignore her! And what did he mean by that, anyway? Why should he care if she liked him or not? It wasn't as if he had gone out of his way to be nice to her. The situation they were in right now was a case in point. He was constantly getting her into trouble, not to mention teasing her at every opportune moment.

She stared at him suspiciously. "What's it to you, anyway? It's not as if you like me."

"Now what gave you that idea?"

Ginny blinked. "I—What?"

An amused expression came to his face. "You didn't think I would allow myself to be placed in detention with you and miss a Quidditch game purely to admire your pumpkin carving skills, did you?"

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, treacherous little beasts that they were.

She lifted her chin. "Well, I hate to break it to you, Malfoy, but you're wasting your time. I have absolutely no interest in you whatsoever."

"So you say now."

Arrogant prat.

"Don't delude yourself. I would rather snog this pumpkin than you."

"Well, I always knew you had bad taste, Weasley, but I didn't realise it extended to disfigured vegetables."

Ginny scowled.

Draco smirked.

"Think what you like, Malfoy," she said haughtily. "It doesn't change a thing between us."

He just smiled knowingly. "It will, Weasley. It will."

Ginny glared at him and then looked back down at the pumpkin in her hands. That was when she realised with horror that it was still smirking at her.

Stupid pumpkins. Stupid Halloween. Stupid Draco Malfoy.


	5. Sneers and Spills

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine.**

**A/N: This was written for Sid's writing challenge at the DG Forum. Here are the guidelines:**

**Must be Draco/Ginny centred; has to include Ginny handling/serving/making/drinking/etc. tea. Can be humorous, or angsty--whatever you like.**

**Length: 300-700 words.**

**Sneers and Spills**

Ginny Weasley had never thought at age twenty-four that this would be her life. She had thought she would be a successful Quidditch player by now, or at least married, but she wasn't either of these things. Instead, she worked at _The Tea Cosy_: a small café that boasted of being the only teashop in Diagon Alley.

Apparently tea was a very English thing—never mind the fact that tea didn't even come from England—and Harold, her boss, liked to boast about his shop being the most patriotic shop in London. Ginny did not share this fascination. In fact, she hated tea, which is why she despised the fact that it was her job to make and serve the drink for the customers. They were always so finicky, and Ginny longed with all her heart to simply be the person who cleaned the shop. But no, she had to be the person who made tea. Damn, finicky tea.

The bell hanging above the doorframe rattled as more customers entered.

"Oh, isn't this place just adorable?" cooed a woman's voice. "So cosy."

"Cosy is just a euphemism for cheap," responded her companion. "But I suppose it will do."

Ginny froze. She would know that voice from anywhere. Indeed, she could almost envision the sneer that would be plastered to his thin, mocking lips.

She peeped around the door connecting the backroom from the counter. A scowl twisted her mouth as she saw a familiar blond take a seat at one of the tables. He took one glance at the kettle and its tea cosy, which were acting as the centre piece on the table, and then Ginny didn't even have to envision the sneer; she could see it right on his pale, pointy face.

Draco Malfoy was in her shop. _Sneering_. Just lovely.

Said Malfoy then clicked his fingers to be served. Ginny's eyebrow rose. What did he think she was? A dog? And, really, that sort of thing was only suitable in fashionable restaurants, not semi-shabby cafés dubbed _The Tea Cosy_.

"What are you doing, Weasley?" barked Harold. "I don't pay you to stare at the customers, I pay you to serve them. Now go see what they want."

Ginny grumbled something mutinous under her breath, and then left her hiding place to confront Malfoy and his woman-friend.

"Well, well," drawled Draco. "If it isn't the littlest Weasley."

Ginny lifted her eyes from her notebook. "Sorry to cut short what I'm sure you've planned to be a lovely reunion of sneers and insults, but I do have work to do. Now what do you want?"

Draco looked a bit put out by this dismissal, but then his eyes glittered in a way that suggested he had found a better way to torment her. He had, making sure to give the most complicated instructions possible on how he wanted his tea. Ginny smiled with forced politeness once he was finished, and then turned to his companion, who, thankfully, was less fussy with her order.

Ginny left to make their tea, returning later to place their muffins and drinks before them on the table. Draco took a sip of his drink and then abruptly placed it back down on the saucer.

"This isn't how I wanted my tea. Really, Weasley, can't you even get the most basic of instructions right?"

Ginny glared at him. She knew exactly what he was doing, and so after muttering an apology, simply snatched up his tea and stomped off back towards the kitchens. Five minutes later she was back with a fresh batch of tea.

"Allow me, Malfoy," she said sweetly, and then deliberately poured the steaming liquid right onto his lap.

Draco let out a loud curse and thrust her away, only to curse some more as the full effects of her revenge kicked in. He rounded on her, eyes glaring, and his pants now wet in the most humiliating of places.

"I could have you fired for that!" he growled.

Ginny merely smiled. "Do your worst, Malfoy. Seeing you like this is all the compensation I need."

It was a challenge he would take to heart, a challenge that would bring many more sneers and spills in the future; but Harold would have you know that tea was a very English thing, and just as Ginny one day learnt to embrace the dreaded teabag, so did she discover that she rather liked it when it was combined with a sneering, English blond.


	6. Broken Echoes

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine.**

**A/N: This was written for my own challenge at the DG Forum. The requirements are that it must be** **Draco/Ginny centric, any genre, and must contain the line: "I am not wearing **_**that**_**." The length should be 300-900.**

**Broken Echoes**

Ginny tossed back the glass of wine, completely ignoring the blond that watched her from the doorway.

"Aren't you going to get dressed?" he demanded, stepping further into the room.

The redhead placed the empty glass of wine on the dresser and stood up languidly from the bed. She was wearing a flowing negligee with intricate designs stitched on the silky material, and seemed to be wearing nothing else, judging by the bare shoulder that peeped out from where the material had slipped down her arm. Her hair was long and seemed to ripple like liquid flames as she walked. Her eyes were a rich brown, her skin pale. She was thin, too thin in a way, but she was beautiful all the same.

She was also drunk.

Draco let out a growl of exasperation. "Dammit, Ginevra, can't you go one night without those damn bottles of wine? Have you forgotten that we're having important guests tonight?"

"Important guests? What do I care about _your_ important guests?" She laughed, a harsh, grating laugh. "They can die for all I care."

He snatched at her wrist, pulling her roughly towards him. "You _will_ care, Ginevra, and you _will_ act as their hostess tonight. You may be nothing but a good for nothing drunk, but you're still my wife."

"Why? So you can show me off as your little trophy wife? Flaunt me on your arm and boast to all your friends because you got Potter's girl?" Her lips curved into a sneer. "I don't think so."

"I will not have my wife making a mockery of me in front of my guests," he gritted out, fingers digging deeper into her bony wrist. "Now get dressed."

"I am not wearing _that_," she spat, throwing a hateful glance at the elegant, black dress that he had bought for her to wear at the party. "I'm tired of being your painted doll, and I'm tired of your stupid parties. I'm not your trophy wife, Draco Malfoy, and I won't play your games any longer."

"You will, Ginevra, even if I have to imperio you to do it."

She lifted her chin, her dark eyes glittering with the alcohol infused in her system, as well as the ready rage throbbing in her blood. "That's right, Draco, _force_ me to do your will. You're good at doing that."

Something flickered in his eyes. Regret?

A cruel smile curved her lips. "Tell me, _love_," she mused, drawing out the endearment so that it was a mockery to his ears. "Does it bother you that you have to coerce your wife into loving you?"

His eyes narrowed. For a moment it seemed that he would hit her, but as they gazed heatedly into each other's eyes, a torrent of emotions surging between them, he suddenly yanked her closer and crushed his lips against hers. She made a muffled noise in protest, lashing out at him with her fists, but he only held her tighter, and soon the flame of lust was igniting inside her, blending with the alcohol to surge through her senses in a stream of passion. A deep moan purred in her throat, her fingers latching onto his back like the sharp claws of a cat, and then she was kissing him back just as ruthlessly, revelling in his painful grip and the bruising touch of his lips upon hers.

Draco picked her up by her thighs and pushed her up against the wall, dragging his lips down to assail the sensitive skin on her neck. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her eyes closing as she surrendered to her senses.

"Am I forcing you now?" whispered the blond.

"This changes nothing," breathed Ginny. "I still hate you."

"I know." He bit down on her neck just enough to elicit a small hiss from her lips. "But we both know that if you truly felt nothing for me, you would have left long ago."

"I still can leave."

He laughed and lifted his face to meet her eyes steadily. "No, Ginevra. You may hate me, but you will never leave me."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you need me," murmured Draco, trailing a finger down her pale cheek, "just as I have always needed you."

And as Ginny stared into his grey eyes, those same eyes that had caused so much pain, she realised that he was right. She _did_ need him, and though their song was but a broken echo of the love they had once shared, it was still the only song her heart could sing.


	7. The Other Side

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine.**

**A/N: This was written for Roma's challenge at the DG Forum. The rules are that it must contain the line: "I've never done anything bad."**

**The Other Side**

Even in his most ridiculous of fantasies, Draco had never imagined that he would one day walk into his bedroom to find a woman lying on his bed in the most skimpiest of attire and greeting him with her best 'come hither' expression. That this woman would also be Ginny Weasley, who he had always thought as rather demure and boring, only served to stun him further.

Draco stared at the redhead now walking towards him, transfixed by the way her hips swayed suggestively with each lazy step.

"Uh, Weasley, what are you—"

But any further words were silenced as she wrapped her fingers around his collar and dragged him down into a kiss. It didn't occur to him to protest at this manhandling behaviour—the effects were rather pleasant, after all—but he did have some reservations when she pushed him roughly down on the bed and straddled his waist, her eyes glinting wickedly as she ripped his shirt open to reveal his bare chest, while tearing half the buttons off in the process.

"Hold it," exclaimed Draco, grabbing at her hands before she could do any more damage to his clothes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He did not mind having a skimpily clad woman throw herself at him, but he did mind when said woman ruined his favourite shirt and showed all the signs of being just a little unhinged.

"Who cares what I'm doing?" retorted the redhead, her voice breathy with unrestrained lust. "I'm offering you free sex."

"I know," said Draco bluntly. "That's what I'm concerned about."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I thought you were the 'shag now and ask questions later' type."

"And I took you for the prudish type, but it's pretty obvious how wrong I was with that."

She sighed, realising that he was not going to let her have her wicked way with him, and shifted off him to sit on the edge of the bed. Draco sat up and stared at her expectantly, waiting for her explanation as to why she was in his room and trying to seduce him.

"I've never done anything bad," confessed the redhead in a small voice. "Sure, I've pulled childish pranks and such, but I've always been too afraid to step over the line of what 'good' girls are supposed to do." She glared at her hands. "I was so sick of it. So _bored_. I just…I guess I just wanted to experience at least once what it was like on the other side."

Draco's mouth twitched into a smirk. "And so you came to me?"

A blush stole to her cheeks. "I, um, well…"

He laughed and gently tilted her chin up so that he could look into her eyes. She was still blushing in her awkwardness, but he could see that her eyes were dark with desire. It was clear that she wanted him, perhaps had felt so for a long time during the seven months they had worked together. Draco thought it would only be gentlemanly of him to give the lady what she wanted.

"Well then," he murmured. "Are you ready to live on the other side, Weasley?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes smouldering rather evocatively up at his. Taking that as a yes, Draco closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against hers in a sensuous kiss. Her body seemed to sigh into his embrace, surrendering to him completely as he pushed her gently back against the bed and moved on top of her. One of his hands cradled her face, the other trailing up the transparent slip she was wearing in a taunting caress. He paused, breaking away from the kiss to meet her eyes with a devilish smirk, and then he ripped the slip completely off her body.

"That was payback for the shirt," he explained at her raised eyebrow. He brought his face back down to kiss her, but paused just inches from her lips, his eyes once more meeting hers with that wicked little smile. "Oh, and Weasley?"

"Yes?"

"This time I'm in control."


	8. Observations of an Eyebrow

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine. **

**A/N: This was written for scubarang's writing challenge at the DG Forum. The guidelines are that it must be Draco/Ginny, and must contain the line: "I don't know how he says so much with just his eyebrow." Can be spoken by any character in reference to any Slytherin.**

**Length: Minimum 400 words, maximum 1200.**

**Observations of an Eyebrow**

"I don't know how he says so much with just his eyebrow," mused Ginny, while staring with interest at the haughty blond sitting at the neighbouring table.

"What?"

"Malfoy," elaborated the redhead. "He's hardly spoken the whole time he's been sitting there, but just by observing the different elevations of his eyebrow, I can tell exactly what he has thought of every comment made at his table, as well as every person sitting with him. It's really quite extraordinary."

Hermione Granger placed down her quill and stared at the enraptured girl in front of her. "You aren't seriously wasting your study time by analysing the mobility of Draco Malfoy's eyebrow, are you?"

"But you should see it."

"I don't want to see it."

"It's so weird how he does it," continued Ginny, quite oblivious to her friend's indifference. "You'd think an eyebrow could only reflect haughtiness, but I've seen amused, annoyed, flirtatious, cynical, smug, surprised, contemptuous—the list goes on, and all of this is achieved through simply raising his eyebrow at different angles."

"I think you're obsessed."

Ginny finally tore her eyes away from the eyebrow that had so captivated her attention and stared indignantly at her friend. "I'm not obsessed."

"Of course you're not. You're just staring avidly at Draco Malfoy's eyebrow and trying to determine which angle of said eyebrow goes with what expression." Hermione gave a wry smile. "I do wonder what will come next. Declarations of love? Secret eyebrow marriages?"

"Don't be ridiculous," responded Ginny, rolling her eyes. "Besides, anything is more exciting than studying for History of Magic. Yes, Hermione, even Draco Malfoy's eyebrow."

"Personally, I find it more worrying that you have been watching him long enough to even notice his amazingly 'expressive' eyebrow. I know some girls think he is good-looking, but really, Ginny, this is _Malfoy_ we're talking about."

A light tinge of pink stained the redhead's cheeks. "Right," she agreed. "Malfoy."

Her eyes flicked once more to the blond sitting across from her. She was surprised to find him staring right back. Her blush deepened under his gaze, and then that mobile eyebrow, the same that she had been so absorbed with only seconds ago, lifted just a fraction. Ginny didn't get time to figure out what that expression meant. It was a bit hard to analyse the finer details of an eyebrow when Hermione was clicking her fingers in her face and demanding that she get back to studying the things that matter: like how Grithwelda the giant had killed two wizards by her stench alone.

By the time the redhead had dealt with her friend's nagging, the blond (and his fascinating eyebrow) had already left the library. She didn't voice her disappointment—it was unlikely that Hermione would sympathise, after all—but she did declare that she could no longer study, even if someone paid her one thousand galleons to do so.

"Yes you would," said Hermione, always ready to crush hyperbolic claims. "You would study all week with no sleep if someone offered you that much."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fine, I would, but no one is paying me one thousand galleons, so I'm leaving."

She stood up from her chair and gathered her things together, ignoring Hermione's disapproving 'tsk', as well as the gloomy mutterings that she would fail her exam.

"I'll see you in the common room," said Ginny, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and then walked out of the library, feeling oddly relieved at being able to escape the bushy-haired girl. Now she understood why Harry and her brother didn't enjoy studying with Hermione. The girl was a slavedriver.

"Enjoyable study session?" drawled a very familiar voice.

Ginny turned her head to see Draco push himself away from the wall and walk towards her. There was an odd little smirk on his lips that was not quite pleasant and yet not unpleasant either. She swallowed and tried to ignore the sudden pounding of her heart.

"It was fine," she replied cautiously, "not that it's any concern of yours."

"Really?" He stopped in front of her and rested one arm casually against the wall above her head as he stared down into her face. She wasn't even sure how he had managed to corner her against the wall. She certainly didn't remember moving backwards.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked, alarmed by his sudden proximity.

His eyebrow lifted at her question, the exact shape and elevation forming the same expression he had given her just minutes ago in the library. She found herself trying to analyse it to determine what he was thinking, but then he lowered his face and captured her lips with his, and Ginny soon forgot about the cryptic messages hidden within his eyebrow. Her whole mind was centred on the mouth now igniting her senses with a pleasurable rush of exhilaration.

Draco pulled his lips away from hers and smiled at her dazed expression. "So, Weasley. What are your observations on that?"

"Your lips are so much better than your eyebrow," breathed Ginny, and dragged his face back down to repeat the wordless exchange.

After all, what were the silent impressions of an eyebrow when she could feel the unspoken words of a kiss?


	9. A Time of Giving

**A/N: This was written for a challenge given by Sarah (imadoodlenoodle) at the DG Forum. **

**Prompt: This is Draco's and Ginny's first Christmas together, he needs to find the perfect present.**

**Rules: Must contain/ mention; a wardrobe, a witch, a lion and the word India (or variations such as Indian). Must be 100-600 words.**

**A Time of Giving**

It shouldn't be this difficult. He had bought plenty of Christmas presents for woman before. Then again, none of those women had been his wife.

Draco Malfoy sighed and ran an exasperated hand through his already tousled blond hair. It would be their first Christmas together. He wanted to make it memorable, and he knew that the best way to do that would be to buy her the perfect gift. Unfortunately, he had no clue as to what his darling wife would consider fitting of that illustrious title.

Other women wanted diamonds and flashy trinkets. Ginevra turned her nose up at such sparkling stones and preferred a simpler style of jewellery. His previous girlfriends had demanded extravagant trips overseas. Well, he supposed that he could take his wife to India (she had always professed an interest in seeing the Taj Mahal), but he also knew that it would be unlikely the redheaded witch would want to go tripping around when she was seven months pregnant.

Every idea resulted in a blank. He'd heard her complain once about needing a new wardrobe, but he wasn't exactly the connoisseur of female clothing; his expertise lay in removing said clothing. Besides, he wasn't going to try his hand at purchasing clothes for her when she was pregnant. Reassuring the woman that she was not a waddling penguin was trying enough without adding new clothes to the bargain. She really did waddle, though he was relieved that there was nothing penguin-ish about her. He saw her more as a lion: all roars and claws. He'd certainly had his fair share of that roaring and clawing, too. He didn't think that his eardrums would ever be the same again.

But that was not the point. The point was that he needed to find a present for his wife, one that would make her realise just how much he loved her, for love her he did. But how he was ever going to capture that in a gift was beyond him.

And then it came to him: the one thing that she would appreciate beyond anything else and that would prove to her that he really did love her.

He smiled and reached for a slip of parchment.

**OOOO **

"No peeking," scolded Draco, placing his hands as a makeshift blindfold over the redhead's eyes.

"Just give me a hint," pouted his wife.

The blond ignored this plea and guided her through a set of doors. He then took his hands away. For a moment Ginny just stood there, staring at the sea of redheads in front of her. Then she let out a squeal of joy and threw herself at the other redheaded female in the room, clutching the woman to her for dear life.

Draco smiled to himself as his wife got reacquainted with her family again. It had not been easy getting them to come, as the Weasleys (or, rather, Molly) had not approved of the marriage or the fact that the young couple had eloped without telling anyone. Apparently her family knew how to hold a grudge when they wanted to and so the blond had suffered through much grovelling and humiliation to get them to relent. However, seeing Ginny's expression now and the tears of joy streaming down her face made everything worthwhile.

When she kissed him later that night and thanked him with all the earnestness of her heart for the wonderful gift that he had given her, Draco realised something for himself: a gift worth one thousand Galleons may be something to admire, but a gift from the heart eclipsed everything.


	10. Warm

**A/N: The plot bunnies are attacking me in my sleep. I dreamt this last night and thought I would make it into a DG one-shot. Enjoy.**

**Warm**

The amber-eyed man smiled from behind his mask, the hand on her waist pulling her closer to him as they moved slowly to the steps of the waltz. She felt her heart rush with inexplicable flutters and lowered her face, warmth blossoming on her cheeks where the simple green mask did not cover.

"Would you like to walk with me?" whispered the man in a voice of smooth velvet.

She nodded, and he gently guided her away from the dance floor, away from the glittering throng of people whose identities were veiled behind the cover of their masks.

The black-masked man turned to watch them leave, his grey eyes narrowing just a fraction. He placed his flute of champagne on the ledge beside him and calmly followed the pair, excusing himself whenever an acquaintance would obstruct his way with an inane question or greeting.

He stepped through the doors, feeling the rush of cold hit his body in an icy embrace. Everything was painted in white, the dusky, blue-grey sky shedding tears of equally white flakes that twisted and twirled through the air like the glittering people he had just left in the dance hall. And there, to his unsurprised dismay, was the couple he had followed.

The amber-eyed man was not walking with the girl in the green mask like he had suggested. He had her pressed up against the wall, one hand fumbling with her dress as he muttered soothing nonsense to her protests. Her mask had been discarded so that the tears on her pale face stood out clear under the light of the lantern beside them, and her long red hair had tumbled out of its sophisticated hairstyle, a style that the grey-eyed man was sure she had been very proud of before she had left her room that night on her foolish adventure.

She looked cold and frightened, and he didn't need to hear her angry protests or see the way she tried to push at the broader man holding her against the wall to know that she wasn't enjoying her _walk_.

"Stop squirming, love," taunted the amber-eyed man in his velvety voice, a voice that now only sickened the girl. "It'll all be over in a minute."

"Don't you think you're a bit old to be playing these games, Blaise?" interposed the grey-eyed man lazily.

Blaise stiffened, but then he turned and smiled with forced pleasantness at the newcomer.

"I didn't see you there."

"I know you didn't," responded the grey-eyed man, amused.

Blaise glared at him. "She's just a Weasley."

He said it as if that justified everything, as if that justified his attempt to rape an innocent girl, but what really disturbed the grey-eyed man was that he had used the same excuse himself all of those years ago back when he had purposely gone out of his way to hurt her just so he could see her cry. He tried to persuade himself that he would never have done that to her, that he had never done that to anyone during the time he had been a Death Eater, but her tears were just the same, and that bothered him. Perhaps it even made him angrier than what he would have been had Blaise simply said he was drunk, as the grey-eyed man knew he was, and had got a little bit too carried away.

"Weasley or not," said the grey-eyed man in a voice that could freeze marrow, "I don't think she's very pleased with your attentions."

There was a moment of silence where both men stared at each other, sizing the other up. Blaise seemed to decide that the risk was not worth it and calmly let the distraught girl he had been holding against him go. She did not hesitate, merely giving him a sharp kick to his leg and then sprinted off into the snowy distance, desperate to get away.

"Damn," cursed the grey-eyed man.

He knew that she would never last out there without a wand. She was only wearing a flimsy green dress that, while fine when worn inside the charmed rooms of the Manor, was useless to her in the biting coldness of the blizzard.

"Going to play hero?" sneered Blaise.

The grey-eyed man ignored him and raced off into the night after the girl. It took him a long time to find her, but he finally saw her sitting crouched on the snowy ground, shivering uncontrollably. Her tear-stained cheeks were almost red from the cold, her breath fanning out before her in its solid shape of warm air, the only warmth to be found in this icy world.

She must have heard his heavy tread crunching on the snow for she stood up quickly, her brown eyes catching his for a split-second before she started running again. He caught up to her easily and encircled an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest as he drew them both to a halt.

"Let me go!" screamed the redhead, squirming wildly in his arms as she tried to break free.

"You'll freeze to death if you stay out here," snapped the grey-eyed man harshly, still keeping a firm hold on her.

"I don't care! I don't want to go back. I hate you! I hate all of you! I—"

She let out a broken sob, and he took advantage of her distracted state by shrugging off his coat and wrapping it around her shivering frame, though he still kept her close in case she tried to run again. She quietened at that, seeming to realise that he was not going to do anything to her, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Women," muttered the grey-eyed man, thinking that it was just like a female to think that every man was out to get her.

Something about his voice must have caught her attention for she suddenly looked up into his face, her brown, tear-filled eyes staring at him with an indecipherable expression. She slipped her hand out from under the protective warmth of the coat and reached up to his face, hesitating just a moment before she carefully pulled the string loose that was keeping his mask together. The black material fell away, revealing his identity, and she let out a soft gasp, her eyes widening as recognition dawned.

"Malfoy," whispered the redhead.

He waited for the fear to strike her eyes, for the screams and accusations to burst from her lips, but she simply relaxed into his arms, burrowing her face into his chest as she huddled up close to him.

"You're warm."

She said the words almost in wonder as if she had somehow been expecting him to be made of ice. He laughed lightly, pulling her closer to the natural warmth of his body, and she let out a content sigh and huddled all the more against him, a small figure of vulnerability and trust in his arms.

And so he held her in his embrace, protecting her from the cold.


	11. The Black Umbrella

**This was written for a challenge at the DG Forum. The guidelines were that it must be 300-700 words in length, and must include the line: "I don't share, Weasley."** **Naturally, it must also be DG.**

* * *

The Black Umbrella

Ginny squinted up at the heavens as fat droplets of rain attacked her like watery catapults. The sky, which had previously been a dull grey, was now painted an ominous black and seemed ready to start a full-scale battle with the earth – and, it seemed, her perfectly coiffed hair.

She groaned and turned to the handsome blond next to her, who was looking very smug as he stood under the shelter of his black umbrella.

"Malfoy," Ginny whined. "I'm getting soaked here."

"I don't share, Weasley."

"Oh, come on. It won't kill you to let me share your umbrella."

"I think it would."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a jerk, Malfoy."

He smirked. "Ah, but I'm a _dry_ jerk."

Ginny let out a huff of frustration and actually stamped her foot. "Why won't you let me share your umbrella?"

"Did you just stamp your foot?" Draco asked, clearly amused.

"So what if I did? I'm cold, I'm wet, my hair is ruined, and _you_ won't let me share your umbrella."

Draco smirked at her. "It's not my fault you lost your wand and can't conjure your own umbrella."

"I didn't lose it on purpose, you idiot."

"Of course you didn't, but that doesn't change the fact that you still lost it."

"Thank you for reminding me," Ginny replied dryly.

Draco merely smirked.

She sighed and folded her arms while trying to ignore how cold and uncomfortable she felt. Her dress was beginning to stick to her like a second layer of skin, and she once more cast a wistful look at the black umbrella in her companion's hand. If only he would stop being such a prat.

_That's it, _Ginny thought._ I don't care what he says. I'm sharing that umbrella with him._

She shuffled closer to him and stepped under the shelter of the umbrella, letting out a sigh of relief as she did so.

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco demanded, glaring down at her.

"Sharing your umbrella."

"You can't just invite yourself under my umbrella," Draco retorted irritably. "Besides, there's not enough room for the both of us."

"Draco Malfoy, I am sharing this umbrella with you whether you like it or not. Now you can stand here and argue with me until the train arrives, or you can actually be nice for once and accept the situation – either way, I'm staying with you under this umbrella."

He looked at her through narrowed eyes, and then he let out a small sigh. "Fine."

Ginny grinned, satisfied that she had got her way. She leaned in closer to him to get away from the raindrops still splashing against her back and accidentally brushed against him as she did so.

"Dammit, Weasley, now you're going to make me wet!" Draco grumbled.

"Well, whose fault is that?" Ginny snapped. "You're the one who made me stand out in the pouring rain for ages."

"Yeah, well…" He trailed off, clearly having no defence against this accusation.

Ginny snorted. "That's what I thought."

They were silent for a moment, and Ginny had to repress a sigh. She was still getting wet. Apparently, Draco was quite right when he said that the umbrella was not large enough for the both of them. Just perfect.

She shivered and rubbed her arms in a fruitless attempt to fight off the chill that was settling in. An arm encircled her waist, and Ginny suddenly found herself being pulled up against a warm, toned body. She glanced up at the blond in surprise, a questioning look in her eyes.

"You look cold," Draco explained with a shrug that was a little too nonchalant to be natural.

"I never pegged you for the chivalrous type, Malfoy."

"Yeah, well, I have no wish to be hunted by your twenty-seven brothers if you suddenly die of pneumonia because I made you stand in the rain."

"Aw, and here I thought you actually cared," she teased.

"Hardly."

She smiled to herself and huddled closer to him. "Thank you, Malfoy."

"Yeah, yeah," he responded dismissively as he shifted the umbrella to cover them both more effectively.

Ginny could only shake her head. Some people never changed.

* * *

**Author Note: **

To the reviewer **-3-**,

Since I could not reply to your review because it was unsigned, I'm going to respond to it here. You're right that I have not updated the _Through the Keyhole_ collection in a while, but it's also not something I do intend to update all the time. As I said right at the beginning, I'm only using this for the drabbles and one-shots that I feel are too small to be stand-alone stories, and I very rarely write fanfic pieces that short unless I am responding to a challenge made at **The DG Forum**. It therefore puzzles me when you ask me to write more or ask why I have stopped writing, since I am constantly uploading new fanfiction to my account…

I'm sorry, but I really don't know what you're expecting from me. You do understand that these one-shots are completely unrelated, right? I figured from your comment about 'Sneers and Spills' that you're assuming the stories are somehow linked. They're not. Each story is part of its own universe and has absolutely no relation with the others. That is why it doesn't make much sense for me to be updating this particular collection of one-shots all the time. It's not really in progress; I just add to it when I have something to add.

In regards to your other question. No, **The DG Forum** has not stopped. In fact, it is very much alive and we are just getting ready to start the spring Fic Exchange. I'm not sure why you would think the forum has been abandoned, but you can find a link to the site on my profile if you're still interested in joining.

Unfortunately, I can't help you with your other problem. I have no idea why FFnet goes mental and decides to jump back to the top of the review box or flicker when you write a longish review. I'm sure everyone who knows what I'm talking about will agree that it is incredibly frustrating, though.

Sorry if this doesn't help you, **-3-. **I'm afraid you just confused me, but I'll be more than happy to answer your questions if you PM me or get in contact with me in a way that will allow me to respond to you more privately. :)


	12. Something About a Cow

**A/N: This was written for the OSS Drabble Challenge (Round 2) at The DG Forum. The idea was to take a sentence from the One Sentence Story thread and turn that into a 300 (or less) word drabble.**

**Mine was taken from Aerileigh's sentence, post #402:**

_**"I didn't mean you look like a cow," Draco cried desperately, holding up a wand as his wife readied herself for combat with a pillow, "maybe, um, a sheep?"**_

**Something About a Cow**

Draco Malfoy had always had a firm sense of self-preservation. Even in the stickiest of situations, he had still been able to rely on his silver tongue to get him out of danger. Unfortunately, this smooth talking ability seemed to have deserted him at that moment.

"What did you say?" Ginny demanded, her face twisted in unmistakable fury.

"I didn't mean you look like a cow," Draco cried desperately, holding up a wand as his wife readied herself for combat with a pillow, "maybe, um, a sheep?"

"A _sheep_?"

He winced, and not just because the redhead had managed to wallop him over the head with her pillow. So maybe calling her a heifer had not been the smartest thing to do. However, it _was_ true that she stole all the room in the bed, and whenever he complained about this fact, she really did act like a right cow about it. He wasn't sure where the sheep part came in. He'd just scrambled for something to say and that had been the first thing that had popped into his mind.

"Look," Draco began, "all I'm saying is—"

"_What_? Have you decided you're going to call me a horse next? How about we go through all the farm animals? I'll start, shall I? I think you're a pig."

"Oh, that's real mature."

"So is calling me a heifer. And if we're to talk of heifers, I'm not the six-foot idiot that likes to pretend to be a starfish in the bed. Perhaps you should look at—"

Draco crushed his lips against hers, effectively cutting her tirade short. She made a show of resisting, but she eventually gave in and started kissing him back with all her usual tempestuousness.

He smirked. Apparently, his silver tongue hadn't _quite_ failed him.


	13. A Question of Fairy Tales

**A/N: This was written for Perfect Mischief's birthday challenge at The DG forum. The guidelines were that it ****must be DG and be Cinderella-based. The bonus points were for one of the characters to eat a muffin, and for Draco to pose as Cinderella while not having the story AU.**

**A Question of Fairy Tales **

Draco Malfoy was not romantic. He certainly did not believe that there was such a thing as love at first sight, and the thought of attaining 'happily ever after' elicited nothing from him but a raised eyebrow. So when a woman who looked far too much like Umbridge for his likings told him in between bites of her blueberry muffin that she was his fairy godmother and had come to dress him for the ball where he would meet the prince of his dreams, Draco was justifiably revolted.

There were many things wrong with this scenario, but one in particular stood out to Draco.

"Why the hell would I want to go to ball to meet a prince?" he demanded frankly.

"But aren't you Ginny Weasley?"

Draco blinked in astonishment, and then his expression swiftly transformed into haughty indignation. "I most certainly am not!"

"Oh, dear," the toad-like woman sighed with comical dismay. "I seem to have got the wrong girl."

"Wrong girl?" Draco exploded. "I'm a _man_!"

But the fairy godmother was not listening to him. She seemed to be having a small argument with herself. Draco wondered if she was all there in the head.

"I've got it!" the fairy godmother declared happily. She aimed her wand at him. "Bibbity bobbity boo!"

Draco blinked, and then he suddenly found himself wearing a shimmering white dress with what appeared to be glass slippers on his feet and a diamond tiara on his silvery-blond locks.

"Wha—"

But his exclamation of protest was cut off as the crazed old woman flicked her wand once more at him and he vanished with a small pop. When Draco's feet touched the ground again, he was standing in the doorway of a large ballroom. A man with dark hair and a smile that was as dazzling as it was cliché looked up at him from the centre of the glittering throng of people. Rapt adoration glowed in the man's blue eyes, and then he was rushing up the steps towards Draco.

"You," the raven-haired man breathed in ecstasy. "You are—" He stopped short, and a puzzled crease formed on his brow. "But...you are a man?"

"What were you expecting?" Draco snapped. "A beautiful princess?"

"Well, yes," the prince admitted. "Not that you aren't attractive. In fact, you're quite pretty for a male, but my contract does say that I'm only supposed to go with princesses. The 'Make Your Own Fairy Tale' business isn't as liberal as some places, I'm afraid."

"How unfortunate," the blond said dryly.

The prince smiled confidentially at Draco. "I'll tell you what; I get off duty after midnight. Perhaps you could meet me at my quarters. We could—" he trailed his fingers up Draco's bare arm "—get to know each other more."

Draco wasn't sure when the prince had got so close, but he did know that he did not like the suspiciously amorous look in the other man's eyes. There was no way that he, Draco Malfoy, was about to become anyone's princess.

"Excuse me," Draco said icily, extricating himself from the prince's clutches. "I believe I have a fairy godmother to go and kill."

"But you can't leave yet!" the prince exclaimed in surprise. "Someone has to be the belle of the ball."

Draco simply groaned and then picked up his skirts and fled from the ballroom, not even caring how undignified his retreat looked. He was wearing a sparkly dress and a diamond tiara, for Merlin's sake. Dignity was no longer part of the question.

He managed to escape the prince, but at a cost. One of his shoes had slipped off his foot in his haste, and he realised that the glass heels which had been so cumbersome to wear were even more of a nuisance when he had to hobble along on one. Curse that damn godmother. When he got his hands on her, he'd—

Draco let out a yelp as he stood on a sharp rock. He jumped up and down in pain, muttering expletives and a few things that were very uncomplimentary indeed about glass slippers, fairy godmothers, and randy princes in general.

"What's the matter, Cinderella?" an amused voice taunted from the shadows. "Lose your slipper?"

Draco's head shot up, and his eyes narrowed as he saw a familiar redhead walk out from the trees while dangling a glass heel on her finger.

"_You_!" he growled, straightening his back and glaring darkly at her. "This was all your idea, wasn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I must say, Draco, you do make a very pretty princess. Have you thought of becoming a Drag Queen? You certainly have the dramatic flair for it."

"Oh, very funny, Ginevra," the blond snapped, his colour much heightened. "And don't give me that innocent rubbish. That damn toad told me you were the one who was supposed to be going to the ball, and even if I didn't already know it, I would have guessed that you were the culprit behind this mess. Only a poor girl like you would choose the 'rags to riches' fairy tale."

"It's true, the rags to riches stories always were my favourite," Ginny agreed serenely. "Did you enjoy meeting the prince of your dreams?"

"I was just thrilled. He even invited me to his quarters," Draco responded dryly. "Now would you mind telling me why you've decided to make me the star of your twisted fairy tale?"

Ginny smiled and stepped closer to him. "I would have thought that was obvious."

"Apparently not."

She laughed, and her brown eyes lit up with secret amusement. "Perhaps I simply wanted to teach you a lesson. Or—" and here she stepped even closer. "Perhaps I was curious."

"Curious about what?" he demanded, eyeing her suspiciously.

She knelt down at his feet and, much to his surprise, placed his bare foot in the glass slipper that she had been holding.

"A perfect fit," she murmured, smiling up at him.

He stared blankly at her for a moment, and then an expression of amusement, mixed with some very real exasperation, came to his face.

"I hope this isn't your way of declaring your love for me, Ginevra," he drawled, "because I must tell you that forcing me into the cross-dressing profession and setting me up with an over-friendly prince is not the way to win my heart."

"Ah, but you're forgetting one important thing."

"What's that?"

"This is a fairy tale."

"So?"

Ginny smiled wickedly. "So, my darling princess, fairy tales always end in happily ever after."

"No they don't," he said with a smirk.

"How do they end then?"

He leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips against hers.

"They end with a kiss."


	14. Fragments

**A/N: This was written for Lia's challenge at the DG Forum. The rules were:**

**Prompt/theme:** _betray - to lead astray, deceive _

**Challenge: **You must add this bit of narration in the format of a letter/note in your drabble: _I'm glad you finally found someone to make you happy. I just wish it could have been me._

**Bonus:** a twist.

**Word count:** 500 words, maximum.

**Deadline:** Monday, June 7th.

* * *

**Fragments**

The smoke curls around her like an intangible snake. She can smell the burnt flesh, but it is the blackened photographs scattered on the floor that draw her attention. She reaches down and picks up one of the charred photos that have managed to survive the flames. There is no image. The face has been burned away.

A smile touches her lips. It is a horrifying smile, childish in its glee, yet deeply cruel at the same time.

The figure at her feet groans. She ignores the sound and picks up a quill bathed in crimson.

She is still smiling.

**X**

_Dear Draco,_

**X**

"He's going to marry her, you know."

"What makes you think that?"

"He told me."

Silence.

"I see."

**X**

_Will you still love her if she's ugly? Will she still be the wife you wanted?_

**X**

"What the hell is wrong with you?" the blond hisses.

"What do you think?"

"You can't keep coming to me like this. I'm getting married in two days."

"Afraid your little fiancée will find out about your affair?" She smiles maliciously. "I could tell her, you know."

"Perhaps I've already told her myself."

"Please. I know your type. You'll be trying to keep her in that innocent bubble for as long as possible. You wouldn't dream of letting her know about all the ugliness behind that pretty face of yours."

"You'll never let it go, will you?"

"You broke my heart."

"I'm sorry."

**X**

_Your apologies mean nothing to me. I know you._

**X**

Draco sits on the bench outside the hospital room, head in his hands. There is a crumpled piece of parchment beside him. He lifts his face and picks it up almost mechanically. He smoothes out the creases and stares at the words – words that have been written in _her_ blood:

_I'm glad you finally found someone to make you happy. I just wish it could have been me._

_Enjoy your wife._

The twisted irony behind the words stab him like a knife tipped with ice. He wants to take revenge, but he knows that is what she wants.

He stands up from the bench and enters the room where his wife is recovering. She is covered in bandages, her face barely recognisable. The crown of red that once adorned her head is no more. The freckles that sprinkled her skin are burned away. But when she opens her eyes, he sees that they are the same shade of brown. She has beautiful eyes, and even now they still make his heart swell.

He leans forward and places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I love you," he whispers.

Ginevra Malfoy looks back at him, unable to speak, yet she returns his words with her eyes.

She does not hate him for what has happened.

He knows that he will never tell her the full truth.

It is easier to deceive.

**X**

_You are only deceiving yourself._

**X**


	15. We're Just Friends, Right?

**A/N: While slaving away to essays and other such horrible work, this idea popped into my head. Sadly, I don't have time to turn this into a proper story, so you'll have to make do with this one-shot. Enjoy.**

* * *

**We're just friends, right?**

Sleety rain pelted down like catapults on their heads. Draco, looking very bedraggled and cold, glared at the redhead beside him.

"Perfect. Not only did you manage to get us lost in some backward part of Muggle England, but, thanks to your brilliant idea to not take our wands, we now have no way to get back home or even out of this damn rain."

"I didn't know it was going to rain!" Ginny retorted, also looking very grumpy. "And don't forget that you agreed that there was no challenge unless we couldn't use magic."

"Yeah, well that was before I knew you were going to get us lost."

"Well, I'm sorry I bought the wrong map."

"Being sorry isn't going to make this rain stop or get us back home."

Ginny let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, arguing with each other isn't going to achieve anything. It's late, we're both cold and hungry, and it's obvious we're not going to get anywhere but more annoyed with each other if we keep walking. I'm pretty sure I saw a motel not too far back. Why don't we get a room there for the night and tomorrow we can figure out how to get back home?"

Draco folded his arms as he pondered the pros and cons of sleeping in a Muggle motel. "Fine," he relented, "but I don't like this."

"You don't have to like it, but unless you want to freeze your arse off out here in the cold, you really have no choice."

She turned on her heel and walked back down the muddy track towards where she saw the motel. Draco followed behind with a moody expression on his face. This was the last time he let her drag him off on one of her harebrained adventures.

"Let's pretend to be Muggles for a day," he mimicked under his breath. "It'll be fun, Draco." His mouth twisted into a scowl. "Fun, my arse."

"Hurry up, Draco! I'm freezing!"

Draco grumbled something about redheads and his loathing of the whole female species in general, but he still quickened his pace to catch up to her and together they walked back to the motel. It was an old, rundown thing, hardly the kind of place a Malfoy would stay in, but the smoke coming from the chimney promised a warm fire, and the roof, though badly in need of repairing, would at least shelter them from the storm for the night.

He followed Ginny inside and realised that it was more of an old English pub than a motel. A buxom woman with a sharp face greeted them at the counter.

"We'd like two rooms for the night," Ginny said while rummaging in her purse for what was left of their Muggle money.

"Sorry, love. We've only got one room available."

"That's fine," Draco interposed. "One room will do."

Ginny paid for their room, and then the two friends ordered the lamb stew special for dinner – it seemed the safest option – and sat by the fire to eat. Neither was in the mood for talking, but by the time they were both full and dry, even Draco was feeling somewhat content and managed to admit that the pub wasn't so bad. Muggle beer was certainly something he could get used to.

They decided to retire to bed early that night, as both were tired from spending the day doing everything without magic. They bickered over who would get the bed closest to the window as they walked up the stairs to their room. Draco seemed to feel that Ginny should be the one to suffer the draughty fate.

"It's only fair," he explained. "You were the one who got us lost."

Ginny, quite naturally, disagreed with this verdict. It was a cold night, and sleeping by a draughty window was hardly her idea of fun.

Both received a shock when they entered their room. There was only one bed.

"Oh, great," Ginny murmured, closing the door behind her. "We've got the honeymoon suite."

"I'm not sleeping on the floor," Draco said bluntly.

"A gentleman would."

"Well, I'm not a gentleman; I'm bloody cold, and if you think I'm going to sleep on a hard floor just for you, you're highly mistaken."

"Well, _I'm_ not sleeping on the floor. There's not even a fire!"

Draco stared at the double bed, then glanced back at the wooden floor. It looked very uncomfortable.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," he said in exasperation. "Why are we making such a fuss over this? We can just share the bed."

"Are you sure?"

"Why not? We're adults, aren't we?"

Ginny shrugged. "I suppose so."

Glad to have got that sorted, Draco set about taking off his coat and boots. Ginny did the same.

"Can you turn off the light?" she asked, slipping between the covers of the bed.

Draco flicked the light switch off and then joined her in the bed. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them not to stray towards the middle. After shivering for a few minutes on the cold edges, though, Draco decided that this was a stupid idea.

"Are you cold?" he asked, and was certain his breath would have shown had he been able to see.

"Y-y-yes," Ginny answered through chattering teeth. "It's f-f-freezing in here."

"I know." He sighed and stared up at the darkened roof. "This is so stupid. Why are we so afraid of sharing the bed together?"

"I d-don't know," she admitted with a laugh. "It does s-seem s-stupid now that you m-mention it. I mean, we're just f-friends, right?"

"Right."

In another unspoken agreement, they shuffled closer to the middle of the bed so that they were almost touching. It was warmer, if only a little.

"Better?" he asked.

"S-s-still c-cold."

He sighed. "Then I'll just have to keep you warm."

Draco placed his arm around her, and Ginny immediately huddled closer to him, grateful for his warmth.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"You're welcome."

They lay in silence for a moment, neither really knowing what to say or do. Draco had never been this close to her before, though he had certainly been with women, but there was something different about holding her in his arms. It was awkward in a way, yet it seemed so natural at the same time. He couldn't explain it, but he knew that he wasn't supposed to feel this way about her.

They were just friends, right?


	16. Divine Intervention

**Divine Intervention**

I wasn't sure what started it. Maybe it was the moody music I kept playing over and over again which finally got to me, or maybe it was the fact that I couldn't deny any longer how completely insignificant and pathetic my life was. Either way, I suddenly found myself staring at the kitchen knife with a bit more fascination than usual and wondering what it would be like if I pressed that sharp tip into my breast.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those self-indulgent people that wallow in my own misery and brood myself into suicidal thoughts. I knew I had my failings, and I knew my life wasn't perfect, but I didn't think that it had to be. I always thought that if I just kept plodding along and making the effort to smile each day, eventually everything would turn out okay; eventually, I'd make it around that bend in the road and find the green hills and rainbows awaiting me on the other side, or some such rot.

Ah, you think I'm a cynic, don't you? Well, I'm not. In fact, I'm one of the most optimistic people you'll meet. But today, well, today was a different story.

Like I said, I don't know what started it. Possibly it was a moment just waiting to happen, but I suddenly found myself holding that kitchen knife and pressing the pointed edge directly above my heart. I'll admit I was crying a little. Okay, maybe I was crying a lot, but what do you expect? I was having an emotional crisis.

Anyway, there I was holding the knife to my heart, looking very dramatic, I'm sure, as I sobbed uncontrollably to myself. And then I suddenly realised that there were crumbs and chocolate stains stuck to the blade**.** You see, I'd been eating chocolate cake last night, but I had been too tired to do the dishes, so my weapon of choice was still dirty.

It was one of those moments that you think could only happen in fiction. Here I was trying to kill myself, and my knife just happened to be smeared with chocolate cake.

Well, I couldn't go through with it after that. I should probably say that I am rather obsessive compulsive when it comes to cleanliness, and killing myself with a chocolate-stained knife was not something I could tolerate. After all, this was supposed to be the last act I would ever do on earth; I couldn't just use any old knife, let alone a dirty one.

So, still sobbing, I filled the sink up with hot water and poured the dishwashing liquid in. Then I started scrubbing the knife clean. Of course, once I had done that I thought that I had might as well wash the rest of the dishes too. I didn't really want to die with dirty dishes left on the bench. People might think that I was lazy and never cleaned, and I didn't want that.

When I had finished washing the dishes, it only seemed natural to dry them and put them away as well. I must add that I was still crying by this point. In fact, my tears were falling so freely that I probably could have washed the dishes all over again just with my tears. It was all very pathetic and melodramatic, but I got there in the end, and then I was back to sitting on the floor, clutching the now clean knife in my hands.

There was nothing to stop me from plunging the knife into my chest. I knew that no one would miss me, not really, and I also knew that I hated my life. This realisation was becoming clearer to me with each passing second. I hated my life. I wanted to end it; I really did. Everything would be so much easier then. God or not, life after death or not, my time on this earth would at least be over. Whatever was in store for me after that was something I could worry about later.

And yet, as I sat there, feeling the cold metal pressing against my skin, I wished that I really did have a good reason not to push that sharp tip in further. I wished that there was someone at least who could assure me that I was needed – that my life did have some purpose. Because I knew in my heart that I didn't really want to die; I just didn't want to keep living the way I was now.

"But there is no one," I whispered to myself.

With this realisation came the end of my hesitation.

I closed my eyes, fresh tears stinging at my eyes. My body tensed, already anticipating the pain that was to come.

And then the door opened.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" a male voice demanded.

I looked up, startled out of my cloud of depression, and met the grey eyes that stared at me so incredulously. I realised that I was still holding the knife to my chest. There was no hope of lying. It was obvious that I had been trying to kill myself.

"Draco?" I exclaimed dizzily, hardly daring to believe my eyes. "What are you doing here?"

He ignored my question and calmly took the knife out of my hands. Perhaps he was afraid that I would try to kill myself while he was still there, but suicide was far from my mind at that moment. I hadn't even realised how much I loved my life until my brain registered how relieved I was that he had interrupted me. I was still alive.

Elated with this discovery, I threw my arms around my saviour's neck and kissed him full on the lips. He made a muffled noise of surprise and took a step back from me.

"What was that for?" he asked, stunned.

By his expression, I could tell he was wondering if I was all there in the head. Perhaps I wasn't, but it didn't matter. Call it divine intervention, or whatever you will, Draco Malfoy had come just when I needed him, and that was all I cared about right now.

"I'm sorry, you probably think I'm crazy," I babbled.

"Yes," he said bluntly, "I do."

I laughed, and kept laughing until more tears were spilling down my cheeks and I was sobbing uncontrollably again. He looked surprised, then worried, and then he slowly took a step towards me, as if concerned I might suddenly lash out at him.

"Weasley?" he said tentatively.

I was beyond help by this point, overwhelmed by everything that had and had not happened. Perhaps he sensed this, for he sighed softly to himself and then enfolded me in his arms. I immediately leaned into him, glad for his solid presence. It assured me this was real. _He_ was real, and I was not as alone as I had thought.

"You stupid girl," he murmured from somewhere above my head. "What have you been doing to yourself?"

I couldn't help but smile at his words. It was so typical of him to be rude at a time like this, but I knew what he was trying to say, and I was grateful for it.

Draco Malfoy wasn't the first (or even the twenty-first) friend on my list that I would choose to get comfort from, but he was here, and that was enough for me.


	17. Subtext

**A/N: This is the extended version of my 'More' drabble from **_**The World in Snippets**_** collection. I loved it too much to sacrifice it to the 400 word limit, so I decided to post it here – with a few new additions. **

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**Subtext**

"You love me, right?"

Draco stared at the redhead in surprise. "What?"

There had always been an unspoken agreement between them to never mention the 'L' word. He didn't understand why she would ask him this now.

Ginny shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she drew circles in the sand with the tip of her shoe. "Everyone's been talking."

"Oh, really?" he asked, pardonably irritated. "And what have they been saying?"

"They say that you don't really care about me; that you'll just leave me for someone else once you get bored." Her eyes lifted back to his, and he could see the resignation in her expression. "You don't have to deny it; I know it's true. I knew when I first started dating you what you were like."

"Why ask me if I love you at all, then?" Draco asked, turning his back on her. "You seem to have already made up your mind how I feel."

"Because I want to believe that what we have is different," she said softly. "I want to know that I can trust you with my heart."

Draco frowned as he watched the waves crashing against the shore. "And what if I said that I didn't know?"

"Didn't know what?"

He sighed and turned back to face her. "Ginny, if I said to you right now that I love you, it would be a lie. I don't know if I love you; I just know that I like being with you." He shrugged. "You make me happy."

She stared down at her feet, her face pale. Obviously, that was not the answer she was hoping for.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what else to say to you. I know you want me to say those words, but I can't. I can't lie to you."

She shook her head. "It's not enough just to like me, Draco. You say I make you happy now, but what about in a month? What about in two months? I can't be with you if I'm always scared you're just going to leave me. I'm not like you; I can't just let things go and move onto the next person as if nothing has happened."

"Ginny," he sighed, closing the distance between them. He took her face in his hands and looked intently into her brown eyes. "I do care about you."

"Then prove it."

He met her stubborn look and realised that she was not going to let the matter go. She wanted an answer, and she wanted it now. It was just difficult when he didn't know the answer himself. But he also knew that she would walk away right now if he screwed this up. That was the problem with Ginny; she was frustratingly consistent at keeping her word.

"Fine." He stepped back from her, his eyes hard but determined. "You want proof? Then here's your proof. My whole life I've always wanted more: more power, more women – more everything. I could never be satisfied with what I had, because I always knew there was something better out there." His expression softened as he reached out to caress her cheek. "And then I found you."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Ginny, that when I'm with you I don't want more; I just want you." He sighed, dropping his hand from her face. "I know this isn't the grand declaration of love you were looking for, but—"

Ginny placed her finger against his lips. "Don't."

"Don't what?"he asked in a muffled voice.

"Don't ruin it." She smiled and removed her finger from his lips. "You don't need to say anything more. I understand."

A crease formed on his brow. "Understand what?"

"It doesn't matter." She leaned against him, sharing his warmth. "I just realised something, that's all."

Draco frowned and wrapped his arm loosely around her, holding her close as they stood there together on the beach. He wasn't exactly sure what he had said to make her change her mind, but he was relieved that she had all the same. He'd been afraid that she'd be expecting him to start walking on water or perform some other fantastical feat in order to prove his loyalty to her.

"Draco?"

"Mm?"

She leaned up and pressed her lips softly against his. "I love you."

"Ginny, I—"

"I know," she said with a smile. "You can't say the words back, right?"

He nodded.

"It's okay." She huddled closer to him. "I don't mind."

_Because one day you will._

He did not hear her unspoken words, but then he didn't need to.

Draco placed a kiss on her forehead. "We should go inside. It's getting cold."

"Alright."

She tucked her hand in his, giving him a small smile as she walked with him, and together they headed back towards the villa with their hands, and their hearts, entwined as one. He had not been able to say those three words, but then, as Ginny had said, it didn't really matter. The words were still there, and sometimes a simple confession was indeed more than enough.


	18. Wind, Rain, and Draco Malfoy's Kisses

A/N: I have a strong appreciation for nature, so when I saw this challenge at _The DG Forum_, I couldn't resist having a go at it despite the fact I'm up to my ears with work. Oh well.

In any case, here are the basic rules of the challenge:

_October is the month of transition: from summer to winter or from winter to summer. Seeing that we live in a world with two opposite hemispheres, October can either be a month of renewal and birth or a month of harvest and melancholy. In this challenge, you will be asked to write a short fic featuring the elements of fall or spring, depending on which hemisphere you live in. (e.g. If you live in the northern hemisphere, you will write about autumn)._

_**Prompt:** October (fall or spring)_

_**Challenge:** Find the beauty or the ugliness in the season._

_**Pairing:** Any, as long as your fic features HP character(s)._

_**Word Count:** 800 words (limit)_

Obviously, since I live in New Zealand, I will be writing about spring. Oh, and I'll apologise now for any typos. If you point them out to me, I can go back and fix them when I'm feeling more coherent.

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**Wind, Rain, and Draco Malfoy's Kisses**

Every season has its own bouquet of scents, but spring was Ginny's favourite. There was something so earthy yet delicious about the scent of spring. You wanted to gather it in your hands and breathe it in like it was the most decadent of chocolates, already imagining the taste of that sweet cocoa melting on your tongue. But spring was not chocolate: spring was dirt and rain mixed together, blended with freesias and daffodils and all those other flowers that only revealed their face during this one special season. It was fresh and innocent, suggesting a burst of life that had nothing to do with the capricious wind who decided to show her face with more frequency.

But Ginny didn't mind. She liked the wind because it was drenched with the scents she loved, as if that goddess of air had surrounded herself with everything to do with spring like her own brand of perfume. Even when that changeable little goddess turned fierce and blew gale-force breaths Ginny's way, the redhead still couldn't find it in her heart to hate the wind. However, when the rain god joined in, Ginny was not so impressed. If there was one thing she hated about spring, it was the unpredictability of the sky. First it would be sunny, then it would be pouring with rain, and _always_ one was left wishing one had thought to bring an umbrella.

Perhaps that's why she loved October so much. Since moving to the southern hemisphere for her work, she had learnt that October was the month of less rain and much more sun. The wind was still there, of course, but the sun had well and truly established itself by then. For the first time one could shed the bulky, dark clothes of winter and indulge in the warmth of a new season. Ginny loved that feeling of putting on a light dress for the first time. It was somehow liberating and, for whatever reason, it made her feel like a child again. Of course, the best part about October was that the sun was never too hot. Spring was perfect like that. It was summer that you had to watch out for.

Then there was the general visual splendour of spring. The trees, which had previously been bare, were allowed to adorn themselves with crowns of pink and white, whose jewels eventually crumbled to scatter the ground in coloured snow. The flowers, which winter had shrivelled to straggly stems, bloomed once again – not ostentatiously as they do in summer, but soft and fragile. To Ginny, there was a strange sort of innocent to spring flowers, as if they were still little children just developing their beauty. It reminded her that spring was indeed the time of new beginnings. It was a time to grow and discover oneself, and a time to renew those things that had been lost during the cold, barren season of winter.

In this sense, it seemed fitting that October should be the month she would put Harry Potter behind her and find new love, but Ginny had never thought it would be with _him_.

"So this is where you've been hiding," Draco murmured, wrapping his arms around her from behind and planting a kiss on her cheek.

Ginny smiled and leaned back into his chest. "I've been admiring the landscape. You should try it sometime; it's much more rewarding to look at than that musty old office of yours."

"I'll take your word for it."

She laughed and turned around in his arms to face him, meeting his grey eyes with a smile. "I know exactly what you're going to say, but even _you_ can't deny that spring is the most beautiful season of all. Just look at the trees!"

"I don't really care about trees, Ginny," Draco said bluntly. "Right now, all I care about is you."

And as he placed his lips against hers, Ginny had to admit that however beautiful blossom-crowned trees may be, nothing quite compared to those spring-given kisses she received from Draco Malfoy.


	19. The Virgin, the Dragon, and the Prince

Why do plot bunnies like to attack after midnight? My body demands sleep, but my brain screams DG! DG! DG!

In any case, since I do not have the time (or the energy) to make this into a fully-fledged story, you shall have to content yourselves with this. I will state right now that I will not be adding to it.

If you notice any typos or whatever, please point them out to me so I can fix them when I'm feeling more coherent.

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**The Virgin, the Dragon, and the Prince Who Was Not So Charming After All**

She had always seen him as an enigmatic stranger – someone to break the monotony of her own mundane existence. She had never thought it would lead to anything serious. Talking to him was just a way to pass the time, really. But then he had smiled that charming smile, and she'd felt something stir inside her that was more than just the simple pleasure of talking to an interesting friend. He'd opened her eyes to a life of passion and excitement that she had never dared to dream could be hers, and she wanted it so bad. She _needed_ it.

Ginny stood before the door to his flat and let out a small breath, hesitating while she shivered from the cold. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight for a moment as if she were struggling against some invisible force, and then raised her hand and knocked firmly on the door. She opened her eyes, half-wincing as she wondered what he would think when he saw her. It was too late to turn back now, however, so she stood her ground and hoped with all her heart that she would not live to regret her impulsive decision.

The door swung open and the blond who greeted her took one look at her face, then raised one pale eyebrow.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" he asked bluntly. "There's only one reason why a woman visits a man at midnight, and I know such a virginal little prude as you could not possibly be coming here for that."

Ginny felt her cheeks burn. "I, uh—"

She swallowed and fell silent, feeling her blush spread down her neck so that she was practically glowing with pink. His brow creased as he watched her, and then he let out a small groan.

"Don't tell me," he said, half-exasperated, half-amused, "that is what you're here for, isn't it?"

Her blush deepened to a rich plum, and she silently nodded her head.

"Lovely," he responded, sounding anything but pleased.

Ginny stared at him anxiously. "You don't want to?"

Draco laughed. "She asks me if I want to?" he said at large to the night. His eyes met hers, and she saw that there was more than just amusement gleaming in those grey irises: there was pity as well. "My sweet little innocent, I could not possibly do it. I don't have the heart."

"But I want you to," Ginny persisted, taking a step towards him as her courage crept back into her heart. "I don't mind. Honest."

"You don't even know what you're asking," Draco responded, and this time she could definitely hear the pity in his voice. "No," he said decisively. "I won't do it. Not to you."

"But you were the one who said I needed to get out and experience the world and stop fretting about what people will think of me."

"That doesn't mean I wanted you to turn up at my flat in the middle of night and demand that I have sex with you."

"I wasn't demanding you to have sex with me," Ginny snapped, flushing. "I simply thought—"

"No, Weasley, you _didn't_ think. That's the problem."

She bit her lip, looking ridiculously vulnerable as she stood there shivering and looking quite close to tears.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his noise. "Don't start crying."

"I'm not crying," she retorted, though her bottom lip continued to quiver, and her voice was thick with suppressed tears.

Draco rolled his eyes, then finally noticed the way she kept shivering and frowned at her flimsy dress. "You couldn't have thought to wear something warmer?"

"I didn't exactly plan to be standing on your porch all night, you know," she muttered with a scowl.

"I bet you didn't," he replied wryly. He stared at her for a moment, then let out a resigned sigh. "Come inside then. I can't have you freezing to death."

Ginny allowed him to lead her into the house and tried not to dwell too much on the warm pressure of his hand pressing against the small of her back, which even now sent tiny tingles of exhilaration up and down her spine. She chanced a glance at him, but he was not looking at her, too busy closing the door.

"Take a seat," he said carelessly, removing his hand from her back.

Ginny sat down on one of the black leather couches and looked around his flat in some interest. It was tastefully decorated, with nothing too ostentatious or overbearing in colour, but there was a definite masculine feel about the room. It was obvious he never kept his women for long. This thought didn't seem to bother her, though. In fact, she was looking quite cheerful now that she was inside.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Draco asked, resigning himself to playing host.

"Wine would be nice," Ginny said with a smile.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he moved to the kitchen all the same and took down two glasses and a bottle of wine from the cupboard. Ginny seized the opportunity to pull the front of her dress down while his back was turned so that she was showing more cleavage. He turned back around, and she quickly folded one leg over the other and clasped her hands on her lap, greeting him with a smile as he came towards her.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the glass of wine from him, and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes drop to her chest, then flick back to her face again.

"I hope that wasn't your attempt at being subtle, love," he murmured, taking a seat next to her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said innocently.

His lips twitched. "I'm not blind, Ginevra. And I must say I never knew what a lovely pair of breasts you have. You really should show them off more, though perhaps not to the extent you're doing now. I compliment you on your taste of lingerie – green silk does look wonderful against your skin – but it is rather tacky to wear it quite so overtly."

She choked on her wine and then glanced down at her chest, only to discover that her bra was indeed peeping out rather unsubtly from the low neckline of her dress. Her eyes slid shut in pained humiliation and she tugged her dress back up to cover her breasts. The smile lingering on his mouth did not help her embarrassment.

"You must think I'm so stupid," she mumbled, placing her glass on the coffee table and hiding her face in her hands.

"Not at all," he said lightly. "But I do wonder why you came here tonight. I thought you were quite happy with your knight in shining armour. Or, at least, you seemed to be the last time I saw you."

"If you're meaning Harry, then you obviously missed the memo," Ginny said bitterly.

"Oh?"

"Everything was going so well between us, but then he kissed me – really kissed me, I mean – and, well, it was . . ."

"Yes?" Draco prompted, watching her closely.

"It was awful," Ginny confessed. "I felt like I was kissing a dead fish."

Draco repressed a snort. "Really?"

"It's not funny!" Ginny exclaimed, pulling her hands away from her face and staring at him with wide, frustrated eyes. "For thirteen years I thought I was in love with him, and then when we kissed it just felt so lifeless and empty, and I—I realised I didn't want him to kiss me anymore. I didn't want him to do _anything_."

"So Potter is a bad kisser," Draco responded with a shrug. "What does that have to do with me?"

Ginny stared at him intently for a moment – taking in his piercing features and alluring grey eyes. He was an incredibly good-looking man, which was perhaps why she had been so attracted to him in the first place, even though she had thought herself madly in love with Harry at the time. It was difficult to look at that handsome face and not be enamoured.

"Because," she murmured, and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Ginny's first thought was that he tasted like wine and something else – something distinctly Draco. But then she felt his lips respond to the gentle pressure of hers, lazily taking control as she fumbled in her inexperience, and something awakened inside her that she'd never experienced before, turning her blood to liquid fire. She pressed herself closer to him, instinctively wanting to remove any distance between them, and he obligingly pulled her down onto his lap so that she was straddling his hips. His hands skimmed her thighs as he deepened the kiss, and she sucked in a shaky breath as she felt his fingers brush against her bare skin, almost touching the silk edging of her underwear. Draco pulled back at her small gasp and stared at her through questioning eyes.

"Please," she said a little breathlessly, "don't stop."

A frown crept into his eyes. "Ginevra, I—"

"Please," she whispered again, pressing herself closer to him.

He sighed. "Do you want to make a villain out of me?"

"What?"

"You have no idea how helpless you've made yourself to me right now. I could make you do whatever I wanted and you would not be able to say no. You'd beg me to take you, and you'd never even know what you're saying."

"Is that what it's like?" she asked curiously.

He allowed his hand to travel a little bit higher and she let out a sharp gasp, surprised at the rippling of pleasure his touch created inside her – and that was with the underwear still on.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked, sounding rather amused yet serious at the same time.

Ginny flushed and bit her lip, looking more confused than ever.

Draco sighed and gently pushed her off him. "I think you should go now, Ginevra."

"But—"

"Look, I'm not made of stone, and my chivalrous instincts were never particularly strong. It's best if you just leave."

"And if I don't?"

He met her gaze steadily. "Then I would think you very stupid."

"Don't you want to be with me?" she asked, hurt.

He raised his eyes skyward. "Ginevra, you are the most naive, ridiculous girl I have ever met. Here I am trying my best _not_ to take advantage of you, and all you can ask is whether I want you or not."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

A smile suddenly curled her lips. "That settles it then: I'm staying."

"Are you now?" he asked sarcastically, though he didn't look too troubled by this proclamation.

"Mhm," she murmured, settling herself back on his lap. "See, I've decided I don't really care for Prince Charming." Her eyes danced wickedly as she placed her hands on his chest, leaning over him so that their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. "You can take advantage of me all you like."


	20. A Travelling Travesty

**This was written for Haz and Porsha's birthday challenge at **_**The DG Forum**_**. The guideless are that it m****ust be Draco/Ginny, must include the misuse of public transport, and must be based around the statement: 'Any place else but here.' **

**I apologise for the randomness. It was late, there was chocolate, and I had been listening to far too much 80s music.**

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**A Travelling Travesty**

There were five people travelling on the Knight Bus that night, and none of them were there because it was their preferred mode of travel. Draco Malfoy – who was currently being held at wand-point by a man in a clown suit and a miniature top hat – had been forced to catch the bus because he felt obliged to see Pansy Parkinson safely home when it became apparent she could not Apparate. Said friend was still so drunk that it had yet to occur to her that their driver was no longer the pimply-faced man who had winked at her when she had first stumbled onto the bus. In fact, it was unlikely she noticed anything much at that moment.

Then there was Ginny Weasley, who was sitting next to a woman who stunk of garlic and kept muttering about vampires. The redhead had chosen to catch the Knight Bus because she had splinched herself the last time she had Disapparated home and had no desire to repeat the process. Ginny didn't really care why the garlic woman was there, but judging by the way her companion kept muttering about fanged-beings, it was likely the woman was under the impression that vampires were out to get her.

The last of the unfortunate passengers was Ernie Macmillan. His presence was understandable, for he had never liked travelling via Apparation. He didn't like the Knight Bus either, but it was safer, and if there was one thing Ernie cared about, it was being safe. Unfortunately for him, clowns had decided to hijack the bus that night.

"Would you get that damn wand out of my face," Draco Malfoy snapped, glaring at the clown standing in front of him.

"No can do, Mr Blue. You're ruining the mood with your tendency to brood."

Draco gritted his teeth. "One more rhyme out of you and I swear I will push you out of this bus."

"Why did I ride the Knight Bus tonight?" Ernie muttered, ignoring everyone. "I didn't even want to ride it."

Pansy giggled. "He thinks he's riding the bus, Draco. Does that mean he's riding all of us too?"

"What?" Draco said distractedly, glancing at his friend.

"He's _riding _the bus. Get it?"

"Er?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "She's talking about sex, you idiot. Now sit down so these stupid clowns can get their dumb show out of the way and we can go home."

"Now, now, Miss Fire Hair, you mustn't talk that way round here. We're here to entertain, not listen to you complain."

Ginny and Draco exchanged glances, both agreeing that the clowns had to go. There was nothing like rhyming hijackers in clown suits to bring two people together.

"You clowns are crazy!" Ernie cried, slightly hysterical. "You just can't hijack the Knight Bus and turn it into your travelling circus show."

"It is you who are crazed, my good friend. And if you keep interrupting, our show will never end."

"Vampires," the garlic woman muttered, grasping the clown by the wrist. "They're everywhere. Great, fanged beasts with pale skin and—" her eyes widened as she looked at Draco. "There's one! Kill it! Kill it!"

"Excuse me," Draco responded coldly, "just because I have pale skin does not make me a vampire."

"But he sure does know how to suck," Pansy added, giggling.

Ginny placed her face in her hands. "This is so ridiculous."

"I want to go home!" Ernie whined.

"I'll take you home, big boy," Pansy offered with an exaggerated wink.

Draco sighed. "I'm surrounded by nutcases."

Ginny slipped past the clowns, who were still trying to calm down the garlic woman, and came to stand beside Draco.

"We need to figure out how to get off this bus," she muttered.

"What makes you think I can help you? They took our wands, remember."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you're the sanest person here – besides myself, of course."

"Oh, I don't know. I think you're just as nutty as the rest of them."

Ginny gestured pointedly at the other passengers. The garlic woman was still demanding the clowns kill the vampire, Pansy was flirting outrageously with Ernie, who was trying his best not to blush at her increasingly suggestive comments, and Stan, the driver, was tied up in a corner, unable to do much but blink and wait to be released.

"Okay, so maybe you're not as crazy as them," Draco allowed, "but I still don't see what you expect me to do."

"We could always—"

The bus jerked to the side, throwing Ginny off her feet and directly into Draco's arms.

"Look! He's trying to bite her neck!" the garlic woman screamed.

"Don't be stupid," Pansy slurred, "he's just going to snog her. He's always fancied her, you know."

Ginny stared questioningly at Draco.

"She's drunk," he explained, though there was a pink tinge to his cheeks.

"Fancy Miss Fire Hair, you do, Mr Blue," the head clown interjected. "It's as obvious as the nose on your face."

"You forgot to rhyme," Draco taunted, if a little childishly.

"Is it true, Malfoy?" Ginny demanded. "You fancy me?"

"Well, of course he does," Ernie said pompously. "He's only been staring at your for Merlin knows how long we've been stuck on this nightmarish bus."

Draco scowled. "What is this: match-makers from hell? I don't believe I asked for your opinions."

"So what is _your_ opinion, then?" Ernie retorted.

Draco could feel everyone's eyes staring expectantly at him and heaved an exasperated sigh. "It's none of your business, that's what. If I fancy Weasley, I'll tell her in my own time – not when I'm surrounded by a nutcase who thinks I'm a vampire and a bunch of rhyming clowns."

"So you do fancy me!" Ginny declared triumphantly.

Too late did Draco realise his mistake. "Well, I, er—"

"Enough of this," the head clown interrupted. "You've stolen our show, which is a big no, no. Now sit and be silent, or we may just get violent."

Draco and Ginny stared at each other for a moment and then wearily resumed their seats. Everyone agreed that they would rather be any place else but here.


	21. It Takes Two to Tango

This is a response to Leigh's Soundtrack Challenge III at _**The DG Forum**_. Rules were:

1. Must be inspired by the following piece of music: Over the Rhine – "Trouble"

Define "inspired by" however you choose. Whether it's simply the chord progression or a downright literal interpretation of the lyrics is up to you - just don't break rule 4.

2. Must ship Draco/Ginny

3. Must be a one-shot. No length constraints, but it can't be chaptered.

4. Must NOT be a song fic.

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**It Takes Two to Tango**

Ginny could feel his eyes on her before she even saw her face. She tapped her finger against her flute of champagne, casting a look over her shoulder at him, meeting his steely grey eyes. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, and she made a point to hold his gaze for five seconds before she placed her glass down on the bench and walked across the dance floor, her hips swaying challengingly.

Draco took the bait, pressing his own drink into his friend's hand, and then he strode confidently towards Ginny, planting himself in her path. She took a step to the right, which he mirrored, and then she took a step to the left, which he again copied, but this time he snaked his hand around her waist, drawing her close to his body. Their eyes met, and her lips curved into a slight smile before she wrenched herself away, spinning three steps back from him, her black dress floating tantalising around her, giving a glimpse of a smooth, creamy thigh.

He watched her intently as she trailed her hand up her body, reaching above her head, her fingers curling in a beckoning gesture, all the while keeping her eyes locked with his. Draco stalked towards her, his hand closing over the one she held above her head, while the other rested lightly on her left shoulder. This time it was his turn to smile, the expression lazy yet seductive, and then they began to dance, legs tangling with each other, as if they were trying to trip the other up, yet there was a graceful purpose to this battle of movement.

People turned to watch the striking couple, transfixed by the way they swept across the floor like they owned it. There was something indecent about the dance, something that left each of the spectators feeling like a voyeur watching something far more explicit. For the couple themselves, however, it was a simple matter of routine. The outside world did not exist to them: to them there was only the blond and the redhead, bodies intertwined, eyes never leaving the other.

Draco dipped her back in a low sweep, his hand gliding up her thigh as he leant his face close to her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair, one hand trailing caressingly against the floor, submitting to him completely as he pulled her back up close to his body, their faces now inches apart.

"I see you haven't lost your touch," Draco murmured.

"Nor you," she responded, meeting his eyes with a sultry look.

His mouth curved into a smile, and then he leaned in closer, brushing his lips lightly against hers. She couldn't help but close her eyes, revelling in the forbidden contact.

"Come back with me, Ginevra," he whispered.

Her eyes snapped open, and she took a step back, breaking his hold on her. "Uh-uh, darling, that's not part of the game."

His jaw tightened. "Maybe I don't care about the games anymore."

Ginny smiled and trailed her hand along his chest as she circled him like a bird of prey. "What's this?" she taunted, stopping before him again, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Has the great Draco Malfoy actually fallen for someone other than his own reflection?"

Draco breathed out evenly and took a step towards her, leaving barely an inch between them. "No more than you, love. Don't try and deny what you feel."

She laughed and closed the small distance between them, her lips a hairsbreadth from his. "Think you can handle me?" she asked huskily.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"

Her smile came out to play again, and then he was kissing her – deep, drugging kisses that made her head spin and her blood hum with pleasure.

"Come away with me," he repeated, planting a soft kiss near her ear.

And this time, Ginny followed.


	22. How to Woo a Taciturn Head Boy

This was written for the April Fools' Day "Gotcha" challenge at _**The DG Forum**_. Basic premise: Draco or Ginny plays a prank on the other for April Fools' Day. It can either go as planned or, because they live in the Wizarding World, it can go horribly, horribly wrong. Bonus points if a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product (canon or your imagination) is used.

There were other bonus points, but I couldn't be bothered trying to incorporate them all. I've also discovered I rather despise writing 'prank' stories, so this is probably the last one you'll ever see from me.

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**How to Woo a Taciturn Head Boy**

Mrs Weasley would tell you that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. That does not mean you should cut open the poor lad's stomach and make a new path to the organ—we're talking metaphorically, darlings, so do put the nasty scalpel away. Now Ginny thought this advice sound—Michael and Dean certainly had not been able to resist her expert cooking—and decided to test the theory on Draco Malfoy, though not for the reasons you might expect.

You see, Ginny did not love Draco Malfoy. She certainly didn't want to win his heart, but he had humiliated her, and humiliation deserves humiliation. She therefore thought it only fitting she play a prank on the blond to get him back for embarrassing her so dreadfully in front of Harry Potter (the boy whose heart she actually coveted). The only way to carry out this humiliation, of course, was to make Draco think he was madly in love her and then turn him down at the last minute on April Fools' Day (because, in case you are not well-versed in clichés and unoriginal storylines, that is the only way to get revenge in a romance story).

It was the perfect plan, except Draco Malfoy was not playing by the rules. He would tell you that the way to a man's heart is to get the hell out of his face, and maybe, just _maybe_, if he was in a good mood, he might one day decide to notice you. Best not to hold your breath, though.

Well, April Fools' Day came and Draco Malfoy still had not noticed her, despite her best efforts to get him to do otherwise. So Ginny Weasley got very frustrated and decided it was time to take her mum's advice to extreme heights, with the help of her two brothers Fred and George. That was why she was seen to be sneaking outside the Head Boy's room, clutching a vibrantly purple package in her hand with the letters WWW stamped on the front.

"Now what was that password again?" Ginny muttered to herself, shuffling from one foot to the other as she stared at the portrait of an old man, who was making a point of ignoring her (he claimed he could sniff out a Gryffindor from a mile away and would have nothing to do with such scum).

You might be wondering how Ginny could even know the Head Boy's password, since Draco Malfoy clearly did not like her, and since it is a known fact that Gryffindors and Slytherins do not associate with each other. Well, the story is rather complicated and one we do not have time for, but suffice it to say that kidnapping was involved, Luna did indeed wear a multi-coloured cat suit, and Ginny's singing "One More Night" by Celestina Warbeck acted beautifully as a method of torture to get even the most secretive of tongues loosened.

But we're diverging from the point. What is important is that Ginny Weasley is trying to get into the Head Boy's room with her questionable box of edibles so she can carry out her prank, only the password seems to have slipped her mind.

"What are you doing?"

Ginny jumped and swung around to confront the newcomer. She hid her package behind her back, wearing an expression on her face that had GUILTY printed all over it.

"O-oh, it's you," she said, letting out a small sigh of relief when she saw it was only Vincent Crabbe, right-hand lackey to Draco Malfoy.

Crabbe scratched his head, his dull eyes glancing from her to the portrait behind her. "You're not supposed to be around here."

Ginny plastered an innocent smile on her lips. "I got lost."

Crabbe's little eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Ginny felt a moment of trepidation. Maybe he did have some brain cells, after all.

The package dug into her spine, reminding her of its presence. Suddenly, an idea came to her. Why should she make Draco Malfoy fall in love with her, after all? Why not make him fall in love with the lout in front of her? The humiliation would be much greater if Draco thought himself in love with his friend—his _male_ friend. It was perfect!

Ginny smiled sweetly up at Crabbe. "Mr Crabbe, would you do me a favour?"

"What?" he asked, frowning.

"Close your eyes."

Crabbe stared at her suspiciously again, but he obliged her all the same. Apparently, those brain cells weren't so very plentiful, after all.

Ginny brought out her wand and stunned him, not even batting an eyelash when he collapsed to the ground with a loud thump. She bent down and plucked a few hairs from his head, which she pocketed, and then pushed him down the hall like a rolled up carpet so she could hide him in one of the cleaning supply cupboards.

Satisfied that she had got rid of that threat—and changed her plan for the better—Ginny walked back to Draco's dorm room and said the password to enter (because, as is only fitting in such tales, she somehow managed to remember it now that the story had to continue). The old man muttered a few foul remarks, but he opened the portrait for her anyway, and Ginny was allowed to enter the dorm.

The room was simply decorated, having that bare, masculine look most boys seemed to prefer. She was surprised to see no posters. Apparently, Draco Malfoy was above such things.

Ginny wasted no time in opening the package. There were a collection of things in the box, but it was the harmless-looking sachet that caught her eye. She pulled it out and grinned rather evilly to herself. Glancing around the dorm, she spotted the bottle of water Draco Malfoy kept by his bed and opened it, pouring the contents of the sachet into the water. She was just reaching into her pocket for Crabbe's hair when she heard the portrait start opening again.

Ginny swore and, without even looking, quickly stuffed the hair into the bottle, shook it up and down, replaced the cap, and then dived under the bed. She was just in time. Draco entered the room, throwing his bag onto the floor, which skidded and almost hit her in the face. Then he started taking off his robes.

"Oh," Ginny mouthed to herself, eyes wide as she watched the blond shrug out of his robe and start unbuttoning his shirt.

She had not planned for this.

Draco paused when he was about halfway down the buttons, frowning as he cast his eyes about the room. Ginny held her breath, hoping he hadn't seen her. Unfortunately, her foot was sticking out from under the bed (not that she had realised), and Draco did indeed see her.

The blond folded his arms and stared down at the offending foot. "You can come out now, Weasley."

"Bollocks!" she muttered, then, with her face burning, emerged from under the bed. "How did you know it was me?"

"I'd never mistake that shoe," he drawled, eyeing her ugly, second-hand footwear with disdain.

Ginny's blush deepened, but she said nothing in reply.

Draco lifted one eyebrow. "Mind telling me what you're doing in my dorm, Weasley?" he asked with deceptive sweetness. "I'm very curious to know how you got the password."

"Oh, you know," Ginny said airily, "I have my ways."

His eyes narrowed. "Indeed."

Ginny swallowed. "Anyway, you, uh, look busy, so I think I'll just be going . . ."

"Hold it," he exclaimed, latching his hand around her wrist.

Ginny cringed. "Yes?"

"You never did tell me what you were doing in my dorm."

"Didn't I?"

"No, Weasley, you didn't."

She giggled nervously. "Oh, well, I was just—" her eyes flicked to the bottle, which was only just returning to its normal clear colour "—I was just coming to clean your room. The house-elf wanted the day off, so I offered to take his place."

"You expect me to believe that?" he asked with an inelegant snort.

"Yes?"

He laughed and released her wrist. "I'm not stupid, Weasley. Now what did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Really?" he said with another sceptical lift of his eyebrow.

"I'm telling the truth! You came in before I could do anything."

Draco frowned at her for a moment, then gave another searching glance around the room. Everything seemed to be in order, but then he saw that his bottle of water had been moved one inch to the right (being rather pedantic about the position of his belongings, he always noticed when things were moved).

"What did you do to the bottle?" Draco asked softly, turning his attention back to her.

"Bottle? What bottle? I don't know what you're talking about."

He smiled—though it was far from pleasant—and summoned the bottle of water to him with his wand. "Well, Weasley, if there's nothing wrong with it, you won't mind testing it for me."

Ginny's eyes widened. She tried to flee before he could carry out his threat, but she realised that he must have cast a silent sticking charm to her feet, because she couldn't move an inch.

"Malfoy, I don't think you want to do that!" Ginny said fretfully as he came closer with the bottle.

"No, Weasley, I really think I do," he said with a malicious smile. "Now be a good girl and open up."

Ginny compressed her lips together, but he simply used his magic to open her mouth and then tipped some of the contaminated water down her throat. She coughed and spluttered, trying to spit the potion back out (for the thought of falling in love with Crabbe, if only for a day, was a horrible thought), but it was too late. She suddenly went still, and then a dreamy smile spread over her face, giving her a glazed look. Draco began to look a bit concerned.

"Weasley?" he prompted, waving his hand in front of her face.

Her eyes lifted to his, and her smile grew. "Draco," she breathed reverently, as if the very sight of him brought the deepest of ecstasy to her heart. "Oh, what happy providence this is!"

He frowned. "Right . . ."

"But don't you see, my love," Ginny continued, gripping his hands and staring up at him earnestly, "we are finally alone. It is surely the work of fate."

Draco began to look very alarmed, but that was nothing to his surprise when the redhead told him she loved him desperately, wanted to marry him, and then kissed him full on the mouth. And kiss him she did.

Having realised by now that she was under some kind of love potion, he decided to take advantage of the situation and kiss her back—he certainly wasn't going to say no to a free snog from a pretty girl, Weasley or no. Besides, it would make the humiliation she would receive when he removed the effects of the potion all the sweeter.

When they both had to pull back for oxygen, Draco smirked at the flushed redhead and cast the charm to end the effects of the love potion. Ginny blinked a few times, looking a bit confused, and then she stared up at Draco with horrified eyes.

"Oh no," she wailed. "Please tell me I didn't just kiss you."

"You did," he said, folding his arms and looking rather smug. "With tongue, too."

Ginny hid her face in her hands, her cheeks burning with mortification. "_Why_? Why does this always happen to me?"

"Maybe it's because you're rubbish at subterfuge."

Ginny ignored this interpolation.

"Well," she said, dropping her hands with a sigh, "at least I didn't fall in love with Crabbe."

"Crabbe?"

"I was trying to make you fall in love with him," Ginny explained. "I don't know why it didn't work."

"Right," he said, "because it's perfectly normal to try and make me fall in love with my friend."

"You humiliated me!" Ginny cried. "I was only trying to get you back."

"Word of advice, Weasley: don't try and get revenge on people. You're quite hopeless at it."

She glared at him. "Laugh all you want. I see I'm doomed to embarrassment, anyway."

"I think you are," he agreed.

Ginny huffed and made to leave, but he once again grabbed her wrist.

"What now?" she said shortly, turning to face him.

His lips met hers in a passionate kiss, which silenced Ginny more effectively than any speech he could have made. She realised that kissing him while not under a love spell was a completely different experience, and was rather enjoying herself until he pulled back. Draco smirked when he saw the dreamy look on her face.

"What was that for?" she asked, confused.

"Just wanted to check something." He smiled and ushered her out of his dorm. "I'll see you round, Weasley."

Ginny nodded, not quite sure what was happening, and then the portrait closed behind her, leaving her standing alone in the hallway. She suddenly realised he had been playing with her again and gave a little shriek of rage. Whether it was April Fools' Day or not, she always seemed to be the one looking the fool.

"One day I'll get you back, Draco Malfoy," Ginny hissed. "One day!"

But first she needed to stop thinking about how much she enjoyed that kiss.


	23. Of Spinsters and Bachelors

This was written for _**The DG Forum's**_ OSS Drabble Challenge III, in which we were asked to write a fanfic of no more than 300 words inspired by (and using) one of the sentences from the One Sentence Story thread. Mine is taken from Roma's sentence, post #796: _Draco had been misled into believing that Ginny would be a token old lady, complete with a cantankerous attitude and thirty-nine cats._

Enjoy!

* * *

**Of Spinsters and Bachelors**

Draco had been misled into believing that Ginny would be a token old lady, complete with a cantankerous attitude and thirty-nine cats. What he saw, however, was a goddess in black, complete with an alluring smile, legs to die for, and no trace of any feline creatures. Needless to say, he was feeling a little lost for words.

"Something wrong?" Ginny asked, noticing his confusion.

"I don't understand," Draco muttered. "I thought you were supposed to be some demon spinster who likes to use her knitting needles as weapons or something."

Her eyes narrowed. "Have you been talking to Bobby? Because it was only the one time I stabbed him with my knitting needle, and whatever he might claim, he did deserve it."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Right."

Perhaps he wasn't so wrong with his first assessment—at least concerning the cantankerous attitude.

"What do you want, anyway?" Ginny demanded, looking at him more suspiciously.

"Luna and Blaise's wedding. They want us to go to the party together, since we're best man and bridesmaid. Remember?"

Ginny gave a laboured sigh. "Wonderful. I'm going to be stuck with the biggest man-whore in England for a whole night."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't give me that offended look. You know damn well you sleep with every beautiful woman you come across. But you're wasting your time with me, Malfoy. I don't care who you are, so you'd better keep your hands where they belong, or I may just bring out those knitting needles, after all."

"Don't flatter yourself, Weasley. I'm not interested in you."

"Really?" she responded, sickly sweet. "So why is it that you can't keep your eyes off me?"

Draco could think of no retort, and could only glower. Maybe she was the spinster of nightmares, after all.


	24. Wonder

I owed Niki (**blurry-blurb**) a DG drabble, which is how this little fic came about. My prompt was 'wonder'. Hope you like it, Niki. ^_^

**Wonder**

Draco wondered many things. He wondered why Crabbe and Goyle could never string more than three words together in a sentence without making unintelligible grunts—really, it wasn't _that_ hard. He also wondered (and lamented) why Pansy's nose turned _quite_ so upwards—she could have been quite pretty if it weren't for that.

But what consumed Draco's 'wonderings' most of all was a certain female redhead.

It hadn't always been this way. There was once a time when Draco took no notice of the freckled thing—also known as the female Weasley—but then Potter's goggle eyes had turned towards her with admiration, and Draco had, quite naturally, wondered what on earth the bespectacled git had seen in her. It must be stated that it did take the blond a while to figure out, for Malfoys are proud creatures, and often can't see beyond their own magnificence. The point, however, is that Draco Malfoy did finally come to understand what made the female Weasley so special, and was quite willing to pursue this new form of wonderment.

Except the redhead in question didn't seem to find him quite so wondrous.

Draco smiled charmingly at the redhead, using every ounce of charisma he possessed to attract her stubborn eye. "Come on, love," he purred in his low—and probably practised—velvety voice. "What do you say you and I go down to Hogsmeade and have a drink together? I'll pay."

He finished this speech with another charming smile—one sure to melt even the frostiest of hearts. The redhead, however, just stared at him curiously.

"Does that actually work?"

Draco lost some of his cocky stance, looking suddenly uncertain. "Does what work?"

"That whole 'charming smile' thing," she explained, waving her arms for emphasis in what he presumed might have been an 'air' smile. "I mean, do girls actually fall for that?"

Draco straightened, and a faint crease formed on his brow. "Uh . . ."

"Never mind," she said with an amused shake of her head, and made to walk away.

"Wait!" Draco exclaimed.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Yes?"

"Why won't you just go out with me?"

"Because I don't want to. Because I'm quite certain you don't even know my name." She scrunched up her face. "And because you wear too much cologne."

Draco's eyes narrowed. He did _not_ wear too much cologne. He wore just the right amount, thank you very much—enough to attract the eye of a pretty female, anyway.

Instead of showing how offended he was by her remarks, Draco merely plastered another charming smile on his face.

"Don't be silly, love," he responded, casually placing an arm above her head against the wall, so he could not-quite-so casually lean in closer to her. "Of course I know your name."

"Then what is it?" the girl asked, placing a hand on her hip and raising an eyebrow.

"Gwendolyn, of course."

The eyebrow lifted higher. "Right."

She ducked out from under his arm and carried on walking, not even sparing a glance back at him. Draco frowned.

"It is Gwendolyn, isn't it?" he called out to her.

The redhead kept walking.

Draco rubbed his chin. "I was certain it was Gwendolyn. Don't they call her some plebeian thing like 'Gwendy' for short?"

His eyes flicked back to the girl's retreating figure, and an unfamiliar feeling of irritation started building in his chest. This wasn't right. Girls weren't supposed to reject him, and they sure as hell weren't supposed to tell him he wore too much cologne.

"So what if I got her name wrong?" he muttered. "It's not like it really matters."

But it apparently did to the female Weasley. Draco wondered how he was ever going to salvage this mess.

The answer came to him through Neville Longbottom, who—one Leg-Locking curse later, and after much humiliating hopping—confided the great secret that would allow Draco to have his second chance. Being a man of action, the blond wasted no time in seeking out the object of his obsession.

He found the redhead sprawled out on her stomach under a tree, chin propped on her hand as she read a book. It didn't seem to be a very exciting piece of literature, for she looked up as soon as he approached her.

"Oh, it's you again," she said, sitting up properly and placing her book down next to her.

Draco did not allow her less than enthusiastic greeting to put him off and sat down opposite her. "Hello, Ginevra."

She yawned, stretching her arms above her head. "I prefer 'Ginny', but I suppose I should give you some recognition for actually learning my name. I can imagine what an effort it must have been for you."

Draco was about to tell her that it had been an effort—it hadn't been easy trying to track down one of those idiot friends of hers—but then he realised she was mocking him.

"Very funny," he said dryly.

Ginny smiled and then, in what he assumed was an act of dismissal, began picking some of the leaves out of her hair. Draco watched her for a moment, transfixed by the way the sun caught the red strands, making it look like it was on fire.

"So," he said when she showed no signs of talking to him, "now that I know your name, will you go to Hogsmeade with me?"

She laughed, dropping her hair, and met his eyes with frank amusement. "What makes you think I'll go out with you just because you learnt my name?"

"Well, I did ask you."

"And your point is?"

He allowed a smile. "Well, in general, Ginny, when a guy asks a girl to go out on a date, she says yes."

"Well, in general, Draco, when a girl agrees to go out on a date with a guy, it's because she actually _likes_ him."

His jaw twitched. "You're making this very difficult for me."

"Am I?"

The twitch in his jaw became more obvious.

"May I ask, _Ginevra_, why you see fit to treat me with so little respect after I have taken the pains to ask you out?"

She tapped a finger to her chin. "Hrm, I wonder? Maybe it's because you have seen fit to ask me out to Hogsmeade for no apparent reason other than the fact you find my physically attractive."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" She raised an eyebrow. "I mean, you didn't even know my name."

"It slipped my mind, that's all."

"Because Gwendolyn sounds so much like Ginevra."

"I got the 'G' right, didn't I?"

"You did," she allowed, "but so what? Knowing my name doesn't change the fact you know nothing about me. You just like what you see, and I don't really care to go on a date with a guy like that."

Draco let out an irritated sigh. "Are you always this antagonistic with every guy who asks you out?"

"Nope," she said with a sunny smile. "Just you."

"I'm flattered, I'm sure."

Her smile grew, reaching her eyes so they twinkled disarmingly. "I tell you what, Draco. You give me one good reason for why I should say yes to you, and maybe I'll think about it."

Draco wondered what would be the best thing to say to win that desired yes. He had many practised lines he could use, but somehow he didn't think that would work with her. So he decided for the truth.

"I just want to get to know you," he said with a shrug.

Ginny peered at him closely, as if trying to ascertain how truthful he was being. She seemed satisfied with whatever she saw, for the sunny smile returned to her lips.

"I do believe that is the first sincere thing you've said to me yet," she observed.

"So that's a yes?" he asked hopefully.

Ginny laughed and stood up. "Nope, but you're no longer on my list of people I would happily push off the Astronomy Tower."

Draco frowned. Well, that was something, he supposed.

"See you around, Draco."

"Wait, Ginny," he said when she made to walk away.

"Yes?"

Draco got to his feet, planting himself in front of her before she could run off again. "I know you probably don't trust me very much—"

She snorted.

"And I know you think I'm only interested in you because I want to get up your skirt—"

"Yes," she agreed, "I do think that."

"But I do like you, Ginny, and I do want to get to know you. And frankly, I'm tired of being rejected all the time." He looked at her winningly. "Can't you just give me a chance?"

Ginny considered him for a moment. "You really want to get to know me?"

Draco nodded.

She smiled and took a step forward, curled her fingers around his collar, and then tugged his face down to hers for a searing kiss. Draco was so taken aback that it took him a full second to respond. Then, just as soon as the kiss had started, she pulled her lips away.

"Think on that, then," Ginny said with a smile, releasing his collar.

Draco stood there a little dazed, watching but not really registering that the redhead was leaving him again. He noticed the book still resting near his foot, and a small smile curled his lips.

"I wonder . . ." he mused aloud.

His eyes darted back to Ginny's retreating figure, and his smile grew just a fraction.

He thought that, just maybe, he had his 'yes'.

* * *

**Notes:**

I apologise if there are typos, etc. I wrote this after midnight. Please point them out to me so I can fix them when I'm more coherent.

Oh, yes. The 'name' thing was somewhat inspired from** idreamofdraco's** _An Everlasting Tuesday_, in which Draco gets Ginny's name wrong several times. It's not the first time it's been done, but since I happened to be reading that fic before I wrote this, I felt I should probably give it some recognition, since I was undoubtedly inspired because of it.

This goes without saying, but if you haven't read that fic, I definitely recommend it! It's very, very funny.


	25. Paradox

**Paradox**

Why do you do this to yourself? Can't you see? Don't you understand?

You're killing yourself. You're killing everything good inside you. Every touch you allow is the caress of death. The pleasure only masks the pain.

But you know this.

You've felt the sinful strokes of fingers riddled with poison, igniting you with lust while the corruption takes hold, spreading deeper as you open yourself more to him. You've moaned with delight as he has pleased you, even as the tears roll down your cheeks, humiliating and anguished—a paradox of desire and hate.

He never asks you why you cry. He doesn't need to. He knows why you come to him, sick little girl that you are. You're like a starving dog, always needing more, always wanting, wanting. But when he's gone and you're lying naked on the bed, alone in the darkness, the wound you feel between your legs seems that much deeper, that much more painful. It never heals. You never give it a chance to. You just keep coming back, letting him open that wound every time, making you bleed, making you cry, making you writhe with the darkest of pleasure.

Fool. He is eroding your strength, leaving you helpless. You cry because he makes you sick—a sickness so intense you feel it in your soul—but you do nothing to save yourself. You're addicted.

But you know this.

He smiles when you tell him this is the last time. He laughs when you say you hate him and wish you had never let him come into your life. He knows you'll be back again next week; if not then, perhaps a month or so down the track. He says you can't resist him.

You dream of violent fancies. How you'd like to rip off his hands so he can't touch you. How'd you like to slice your own body in half so you'd never feel that wound between your legs, that aching need pulling you back over and over again, dragging you in the mud of humiliation as you beg him to satisfy you, even after swearing you'd never return. You'll do anything for a few minutes of pleasure, even if it makes you feel like you're dying inside. Even if the pain that follows overwhelms you with self-loathing and regret. It's become second nature to you.

But you know this.

So what will you do? What will you do, little girl, now that you know what you are?

What will you do now that you know what is at stake?

Ginny Weasley stepped away from the mirror. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but there was a determined glint in the brown depths that had not been there before. She smoothed down her robe and then left the room, holding her head high. The handsome blond looked up from where he was lounging on the bed at her entrance, and a slight smile curled his lips.

"Took you long enough, darling," he drawled, swinging his pocket watch to and fro like a hypnotist.

"I'm leaving," Ginny said abruptly.

"Are you now?" he responded, his smile widening.

"I don't want to do this anymore, Draco."

He gave a feigned sigh. "So we're back at this again, are we?"

Ginny clenched her hands into fists. "Don't mock me."

"Well, darling, I'm afraid you make it so very difficult for me not to. We've had these conversations so many times now that, I must admit, it has become a bit of a joke to me. But please, go on. You were telling me that we can't do this anymore, and I'm ever-so-fascinated to know what reasons you have come up with this time."

Her body trembled. She wiped the stray tear away from her cheek.

"I hate you," she whispered. "I hate everything about you."

"No, darling, you just hate yourself. Now stop being so ridiculous and come and lie down with me like I know you want to." He smiled up at her persuasively, patting the spot beside him.

Ginny shook her head. "I won't. I won't do this with you anymore. I can't _bear_ it."

"What's so wrong with enjoying ourselves?"

"Because it means nothing. It doesn't mean a thing. I feel like I'm dying every time you touch me, and I can't deal with this anymore, Draco. I just _can't_."

Draco chuckled. "So dramatic. Very well, Ginevra, if you're so set on leaving, then leave." A mocking smile glinted in his eyes. "But you know you'll be back."

"I won't this time."

He laughed gently. "Of course not."

Ginny felt the hot surge of anger bubble through her veins. She wanted to scream so many things at him in that moment, but instead of saying anything, she turned on her heel and left the room, knowing it was too dangerous to stay with him anyway. The pull she felt for him tugged insistently at her chest as she walked down the stairs, trying to drag her back to the hotel room and the handsome blond inside. She could have cried in frustration and clutched her hands to her chest, trying to force the feeling away. She couldn't give in. She just _couldn't_.

The aching hollowness burned deeper the further she got from the room, spreading to her stomach, demanding she turn back. She felt like she was going to be sick. In her mind, she could see Draco lounging on the bed in that arrogant way of his, still swinging his pocket watch as he laughed at her struggles.

"You can't resist me," his voice whispered in her mind. "Why even bother fighting it?"

Ginny gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep walking, bursting through the doors of the hotel to the outside world. A rush of cold air slapped her in the face, jarring her back to reality, so that the blond and his laughter slowly faded from her mind.

She smiled and wept tears of pure relief.

"This time I won't go back," Ginny promised herself. "This time I'll be stronger."

Facing the world with a new hope, she continued down the street, a streak of red fading into grey. On the second floor of a classy hotel, a handsome blond smiled and let the curtain fall.


	26. Wrong

This was written for Leigh's challenge at _The DG Forum_. Prompt: a Malfoy inspects a Weasley after a fight.

* * *

**Wrong**

There had been tears, so many tears. Words had been carelessly flung like priceless vases, smashing in a thousand tiny pieces upon impact, never to be recovered. She had wanted to see the destruction, to wound him in a way he could not ignore, if only to get _some_ kind of reaction from him. But now that she was surrounded by the shards of her thoughtless cruelty, she just wished she had kept her mouth shut. It was all wrong—all of it—and she wanted nothing more than to say sorry and pull him back into her arms, to kiss him and feel the warmth of his body embrace her. But the words wouldn't come. The damage had already been done. His back was turned on her, colder than ever, and he was leaving, leaving . . .

Gone.

Ginny slid down the wall to the floor, hugging her knees close to her chest as she stared at the closed door. She couldn't believe it. After all the struggles, all the fighting and repeated promises that _this time_ they would make things work, their relationship was over. It was what she had always feared, but that didn't make living with it any easier.

She knew Draco would be back tomorrow, but only to collect his things. She could say sorry then, but what would be the point? It was obvious he was tired of her. Tired of her dramas and her constant need for reassurance. Tired of her jealousy and nagging.

Tired of dealing with her altogether.

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe they had been wrong to think two people from such different backgrounds could actually have a happy relationship. Gods knew she'd had enough of the fighting, of the paranoia and pain. It _hurt_ to love him. It hurt being with him. But even then, it hurt so much more when he was gone.

Ginny pressed her face against her knees, surrendering to the burning behind her eyes. She didn't know what to do. It felt like she was trapped in a nightmare: forced to watch as the world tumbled around her, yet unable to lift a finger to stop it. She just wanted things to go back to the way they were. She didn't want him to leave, but the door was shut and she didn't know how to open it again. She didn't know how to call him back.

She was stupid and proud and so, so desperately sorry.

There was a knock at the door. Ginny scrubbed at her cheeks, wiping away her tears. A wild hope that Draco had come back momentarily presented itself, but she rejected the thought almost immediately. Of course he had not come back yet. Besides, Draco never knocked.

Ginny stood up and opened the door, almost slamming it shut again when she saw the regal blonde standing there. Why on earth was Narcissa Malfoy outside her flat?

"Can I come in?" Narcissa asked dryly. "Or are you planning on standing there and gaping at me all evening?"

Ginny closed her mouth and held the door open for the blonde, allowing her to enter. Narcissa gave a cursory glance around the flat—the slight curl of her lip telling all too well what she thought of the decor—and then focussed her eyes back on Ginny.

"My son tells me you have broken off your engagement with him," she remarked, expression revealing nothing.

"Did he now?"

There was a bitter taste in Ginny's mouth. It hadn't even been an hour and already Draco had gone to share the news to his mother, as if he couldn't wait to tell of his escape. As if he knew that this really was the end of that travesty they called a relationship, and there was nothing either of them could do to salvage it. As if he didn't even want to try.

She wanted to cry again, but she held back every drop. She refused to let Narcissa see her break down. The woman had always disapproved of Draco's choice to date her. Ginny would not give Narcissa that satisfaction. No doubt the blonde had only come to gloat, anyway.

Narcissa considered her for a moment, her eyes cool and unsympathetic. "You're a fool," she said bluntly.

Ginny blinked in astonishment, but then her anger stirred to life, burning her insides. "Excuse me?"

"I said you're a fool."

"I got that part," Ginny muttered, barely keeping her temper in check. "Mind telling me why you think that? Because if you've just come here to be rude, you can leave."

Narcissa gave a thin-lipped smile. "Fine words from a woman who called her own fiancé a heartless bigot. Or was it selfish? You know, I don't remember now, but I do recall him being rather upset about it."

Ginny shifted uneasily. So Draco had told her that.

The blue eyes met hers calmly. "You don't deserve my son, Ginevra Weasley. You never have deserved him. You've been wrong for him from the beginning, but then I think you know that."

"Is there a point to this?" Ginny gritted out.

Narcissa gave another thin smile. "Well, Ginevra, as much as I disapprove of the relationship, I do not like to see my son so distressed. He loves you—goodness knows why—and he will not be happy again unless he is with you. I want you to go to him and apologise. It's obvious you're just as unhappy with the situation as he is."

"I—_what_?"

Narcissa sighed. "I will never understand why people cannot understand basic concepts. You had a fight, Ginevra. When you have a fight and say rude things to the person you love, you apologise. It's really quite simple."

Ginny couldn't even bring herself to be offended. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It seemed so impossible that Draco could forgive her after all the stupid things she had said to him, yet the fact that Narcissa was even standing here gave her some hope. Draco must have gone to his mother straight after their argument. He must have told her that it was all at an end, yet here was the blonde telling Ginny to apologise, to take it all back just like she wished she could. She just didn't know if she had the courage to do it.

"He'll never forgive me," Ginny said in a low voice, dropping her gaze to the floor. "You don't know the things I said."

"Oh, I can imagine. Overemotional people always say the most idiotic things when they are upset, but that doesn't change the fact my son loves you. He would never have come to me if he did not."

"Why should he even listen to me? I broke off our engagement with him. I told him—I told him—well, I said terrible things, and he—"

"Will understand."

"But—"

"Ginevra," Narcissa said firmly, forcing Ginny to fall silent. "I have been married to Draco's father for many years now. Do you think I don't know what it is like to be in your situation?"

Ginny stared at the woman before her as if seeing her for the first time.

"He will forgive you, Ginevra. You just need to let go of your own fear and pride and ask for that forgiveness." Narcissa's eyebrow lifted a fraction, and an amused glint came to her eyes. "Do you think you can do that?"

"I don't know," Ginny said truthfully. "I don't know if I even should. Maybe Draco and I really just aren't meant to be."

Narcissa gave a tinkling laugh. "It's that kind of melodramatic thinking that got you into this mess in the first place."

Not even waiting for Ginny's response, the blonde headed to the door and then paused as she reached for the handle.

"A word of advice, Ginevra," she said, still facing the other way. "No matter how bleak things look, nothing is unfixable. If you really want something to work, it will."

Ginny stared hard at the floor. She heard the door click shut and knew she was alone again. A deep sigh escaped her lips and she turned to confront the empty flat. Memories of Draco were everywhere, refusing to be banished. He lingered in the red stain on the carpet where wine had been spilt after a celebration; he clung to the furniture where his body had laid alongside hers—a whisper of passion but also pain. His presence was as tangible and real as the walls surrounding her, and she knew he would never really leave it. He was part of this home, because he was part of her.

She sighed again and curled up on the couch, letting his cool, familiar scent envelop her. She could almost imagine he was holding her if she closed her eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she hugged her arms tighter to herself.

She knew what she had to do, of course. But did she have the courage?

It seemed so wrong.

It seemed so right.


	27. Draco's Appeal

**I wrote this for the Draco Workshop 'Breaking The Fourth Wall Challenge' at **_**The DG Forum**_**. The rules:**

Write a scene in which Draco interacts with you, the author.

The **requirements** for this challenge are ridiculously simple: there is no deadline and no word limit. However, no matter what situation you are putting Draco in, his interaction is with you alone and no other characters that you involve (including Ginny) are made aware of your existence on the same level of consciousness as Draco. Simply put, this challenge is about Draco's characterisation and dialogue, not anyone else's.

I blame Lia for all weirdness and moments of insanity. :P

* * *

**Draco's Appeal**

"Hem, Hem. Order in the court, please. We will now continue with the grossly improper appeal of Draco Lucius Malfoy, who has seen fit to file a complaint against his fanfiction author, the illustrious Miss Boogum—also known as 'Great One' 'All Knowing One' and all other matter of radiant and powerful 'Ones'. The defendant wishes to—"

"Oh, for the love of—would you stop acting like we are in a courtroom!"

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry, Draco. I was under the impression you wanted me to take this _seriously_."

"Right. Because wearing a curly wig that looks like a poodle's backside on your head and pretending you're actually a qualified judge and not some nutcase who lives on herbal tea is somehow taking this seriously."

"There's nothing wrong with drinking herbal tea, and I'll have you know I'm perfectly sane. I even have certified proof stating so."

"Right."

"Stop saying 'right'. I don't like people who give one syllable answers. It makes me feel like they're being sarcastic."

"Well, _I_ don't like authors who make me fall in love with psychotic redheads. Just because I'm a fictional character doesn't mean you can do what you like with me. I'm a Malfoy; I have more dignity than that, and I will not be used any more for your disgusting little romance stories with that she-weasel."

"Be grateful I _am_ making you fall in love with 'that she-weasel', as you call her. I could very easily make it a _he_-weasel."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

. . .

. . .

"Fine, so maybe you would, but that's not the point."

"Oh, really? Then what is the point, Mr Malfoy?"

_Mumbles_.

"What was that?"

"I said I want more page time."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. If I'm going to be stuck falling in love with that annoying bint, then I want more page time. You know everyone only reads these fics for me, anyway, so it's not like you'll be losing out on anything. I mean, I _am_ the wittiest character you write, not to mention the most interesting. Weasley's story doesn't even get exciting until I enter it—don't deny it, you know it's true—so what have you got to lose? Personally, I think you might as well just get rid of the psychotic wench altogether and focus your fanfiction on me, or at least write from my point of view. At least that way we'll skip all the tedious parts, and you know she _never_ gets my character right when it's just her viewing things. There's all this nonsense about masks and fallen angels, and—"

"Malfoy, Malfoy. _Tsk. Tsk. Tsk._ While I can appreciate your sentiments, _you_ don't seem to understand that I simply can't write everything from your point of view."

"Why not?"

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'too much of a good thing . . .'"

"Don't be ridiculous. No one can get sick of me. I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Right."

"Now who's giving the one syllable answers."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hypocrite."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Honestly, Draco, when are you going to learn that your face can't do 'innocent'? You have sneaking, scheming Slytherin written all over you. It's no wonder the other characters are always suspicious of you."

"I can't help it; it's the way I was made."

"Alas, I know."

. . .

. . .

"Enough of this! Now what have you decided?"

_Sigh_. Very well, we shall discuss this seriously. So you want more page time, do you?"

"Yes. I think it's only fair you give me some compensation for making me fall in love with that idiotic Weasley girl over and over again. Really, Miss Boogum, couldn't you have paired me with someone a little more intelligent? Even a Hufflepuff would have been better than that graceless, ill-mannered—"

"I get the point. You don't like Ginny Weasley, though why you're making such a fuss now, I have no idea. You used to be quite agreeable to go with her in the past."

"That's because you kept trying to put me with that hideous mudbloo—I mean Granger. Anyone was better than _her_."

"Oh, good. Then you won't mind if I try some incest for my next fic. I've been thinking of playing around with a few Freudian ideas. Tell me, Draco, have you ever found yourself admiring your mother in a way that is, shall we say, more than platonic?"

. . .

"Draco?"

"Tell me, members of the _court_, is it a crime to murder one's author?"

"Oh, dear. I seem to have upset him."

"Now why would you think that? Why on earth would I be upset that you, my _dear_ author, are actually contemplating writing a romance between me and my own _mother_?"

"Oh, dear. Now he's bringing out the poisonously sweet act and speaking in visible italics. I'd better try to appease him."

"I can hear you, you know."

"Can you? Oh. Well, never mind, dear. We'll just forget that little matter, shall we? Now, let's see, you wanted more page time. Is that all?"

"Well, since you're asking, it would be nice if I could have more fun with the ladies before you force me to be shackled to that red-haired shrew. Other authors allow me to be called the Slytherin Sex God and let me shag all the pretty girls I want before _they_ make me fall in love with Weasley. What do you give me?"

"Hair."

"Why you—I thought we agreed that was never going to be mentioned!"

"Well, there's no point hissing to me about it. I can't help it your real author tried to make you go bald."

"I am _not _going bald. I will _never_ be bald. And even if I was going bald (and this is purely hypothetical, of course) do you really think with all my money, prestige and vanity that I would not find some way to cure that baldness? Do you?"

"Calm down, Draco. You know I would never make you go bald . . . unless you start being difficult for me, of course."

"Hmph."

"Now where were we?"

"You were about to agree that you should start writing fics solely about me, or at least give me more page time."

"I am not going to write fics solely about you, Draco. Your ego is bloated enough as it is."

"Must you use the word 'bloated'? It does conjure the most appalling images, and I'd rather not be associated with that."

"What, afraid I might make you chubby?"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I wouldn't, but I have it on good authority that someone already has . . . and, guess what, they even paired you with Ginny!"

"I do not find your style of conversation amusing."

"That's a shame. I was just warming up."

"Enough of this. Are you going to give me my compensation or not?"

"Of course not. I'm the author here and you'll do what I say whether you like it or not. You'll be falling in love with Ginny and having pink-haired babies for the rest of your fictional life. Mwahaha ha ha haaaaa."

. . .

. . .

"I always knew you were a nutcase."

* * *

**Note:** The fic I refer to with the chubby Draco is **enchantedstarlight's** _Die, with a T_. I highly recommend it. ^_^


	28. The Mechanical Dragon

This was written for a challenge at _The DG Forum_. Rules were that it must beD/G, must contain the line "You have got to be kidding me", rated T, and be a minimum of 500 words. Bonus points if it involves Ginny figuring out how a Muggle contraption works and at least a mention of Blaise/Luna. There was another bonus point, but I was feeling lazy. :P

* * *

**The Mechanical Dragon**

The package had appeared on the doorstep to their flat with no address and no listed sender attached. Ginny, being of a curious nature, decided there was no harm in bringing it inside and taking a peek. Besides, whatever was in the box could very well be for her.

So it was that Draco, still sleepy-eyed and with his hair sticking up at every angle, came out of his room to find the redhead surrounded by clouds of smoke and clutching a blackened and crumbling square of what might have once been bread. He froze, his expression transforming from tired to plain stunned.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered, taking in the similar charcoaled disasters littering the bench, though none were quite so decimated as the slice in her hand.

Ginny spun around in fright, then let out a small hiss and dropped the piece of smouldering ash in her hand. "Oh, you're up."

"Yes," he said slowly, holding his T-shirt over his nose to block out the smoky tasting air. "And might I ask what the hell you have been doing to our kitchen, Ginevra?"

"I'm making toast."

"Really? I never knew 'making toast' involved setting the house on fire."

"I wasn't setting the house on fire," she retorted, sucking her burnt finger. "I was using the tow-star we got sent to toast the bread, though it seems to be faulty."

"Your brain is faulty."

Ginny glared at him, but Draco ignored her scowling glances and walked over to open the window, letting the smoke out. Then he used his wand to vanish every one of the contraption's black creations.

"Where is this 'tow-star' of yours, then?" he asked, turning to face her.

"Why?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

"Because I would like to bash you over the head with it." He rolled his eyes. "What do you think? I want to get rid of it before you really do burn the house down—though the former does have its appeal. You might actually get some sense knocked into that demented brain of yours."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic. The tow-star's not doing any harm."

He raised an eyebrow pointedly.

"Alright," she allowed, "so the house is a bit smoky, but it will clear up. Besides, I refuse to be beaten by a piece of metal. If Muggles can learn how to use these things, I'm sure I can too."

"Ginevra, every piece of bread you put in that thing turns into a burnt crisp."

"I know," she sighed, "but I'm working on that."

Draco folded his arms and leaned against the bench. "Have you tried reading the instruction manual?"

"It's in Chinese—at least I think it's Chinese."

"Well, that's helpful," he drawled, leaving no doubt as to what he thought of Muggles and their creations.

"I've seen Hermione use one of these things before," Ginny muttered, using her wand to slice up the loaf of bread as she talked. "You just put two pieces of bread in these gaps, like so, and then you push the big rectangle thing down and wait until it pops back up."

Draco watched as the metal inside the two gaps immediately glowed a fiery red, looking like the jaws of a hungry, mechanical dragon. The bread was swallowed up by heat, warming, warming, warming—

"Damn it, Ginevra, you're burning the toast again!" Draco exclaimed as the acrid smell of burnt food tickled his nostrils.

Ginny danced about the toaster, fretting about how to stop it. Draco shoved her out of the way and examined the evil Muggle monster, letting out a small "Ha!" of triumph when he saw the small round button next to the rectangle thing Ginny had pulled down. He pressed the knob, releasing the handle, and he and Ginny both watched as the toast popped up with a hiss of blue sparks.

There was a moment of silence as both stared at the ashy remnants of bread.

"That's it, Ginevra," Draco said firmly, snatching the toaster up into arms, burnt toast and all, and wrenching the plug out of the electrical socket they never used. "I am taking this death-trap away from you."

"But—"

"Don't even try it! Blaise and the dotty blonde might fall for your 'I'm so cute and innocent act', but you're going to get nowhere with me. You know, I always thought it would be Luna who would blow up the house, but now I see it was you who I should have been worried about. Gods, why did I ever let myself get roped into living with you nutcases?"

"The same reason I got stuck living with you, I expect," she retorted wryly. "Blaise and Luna wanted an excuse to live together."

"Yeah, and they left me here with _you_ to go on their little trip, and look what you do the first day: you almost set the house on fire!"

"For the last time, I didn't set the house on fire! Do you see any flames? No!"

"There's no saying what would have happened had I not come out."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Right. There's something to be proud of: Draco Malfoy, vanquisher of Muggle tow-stars. What will be your next heroic deed?"

"You're so immature."

"_I'm_ immature? Oh, that's rich coming from you."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"How about the fact you always take long in the shower so there's no hot water left for any of us? Or the fact you only ever buy dinner for yourself when it's communal meal night and it's your turn to cook? Or the fact that—"

"Alright, alright. I get it."

Ginny folded her arms. "I want my tow-star back."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're bloody dangerous with that thing."

"I promise I won't burn any more toast."

"No."

"Oh, come on, Draco," she wheedled, sidling closer and making a grab for the toaster.

Draco held the toaster above his head, just out of her reach. "It's just a stupid Muggle contraption, Ginevra. You can make much better toast over the fire with a wand."

"I just want to make one batch of normal toast with the tow-star. Just one."

"_No_!"

"Bother this," Ginny muttered, and promptly tackled him.

Draco let out a small 'oomph' as he hit the ground, still clutching the toaster above his head. Ginny was on him in a flash, straddling his waist and grabbing the toaster from his slackened grip. She cackled in triumph and was about to get off him, when he pulled her down by the front of her dress and rolled with her, pinning her underneath his much broader and heavier body. The toaster bounced out of her hand and landed out of reach. Neither so much as glanced at it.

Ginny stared up at him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath, and her hair sprawled out around her like a fiery cape. Draco received a shock as he looked down at her freckle-sprinkled face, noting the plump lips, flushed cheeks and sparkling brown eyes. It was an alluring image—made more so by the fact he could feel every inch of her body pressed up against his. The nether regions of his body quite agreed.

"That had better be your wand," Ginny muttered, the blush on her cheeks darkening to a rich red.

"And if it isn't?" he responded with a mischievous yet charming smile.

"Ugh," she exclaimed in disgust.

She made to push him off her, but Draco was having none of that and leaned forward and kissed her soundly on the lips. Ginny made a small sound of protest, yet the blond proved to be just as skilful with his tongue at kissing her as he was annoying her with his comments. She soon relaxed into his embrace, curling one hand around his neck as she kissed him, instinctively trying to get closer to him. The feel of her body brushing so tantalisingly against his was driving him mad, and he felt his blood quicken with fire, heating and heating as it streamed through his veins, driving all rational thought from out of his mind. Needles to say, it wasn't long before Ginny's dress was pulled up around her hips and her knickers discarded somewhere near the cat food dish.

Queen Mab, Luna's Russian Blue, strolled into the kitchen for her morning snack and was promptly scarred for life at the scene that greeted her, but it was unlikely the redhead or the blond cared much at that moment. They were much too busy with each other—namely, as the Chinese instruction manual would say, discovering just what happens when an electrically charged plug is pushed into an electrically charged socket.

"Oh, crap," Ginny said afterwards.

Draco stared up at the roof as he lay on the kitchen floor beside Ginny, also having similar thoughts.

"I can't believe we just had sex!" she continued fretfully. "You and I. Here. On the kitchen floor. With Queen Mab watching. Just like that." She placed her face in her hands. "This can't be happening!"

Draco pulled up his pants and got to his feet. "Try not to have a conniption about it, Ginevra."

She sat up, staring at him in surprise and a little hurt. "Well, excuse me Mr I'm-Not-Affected-By-Anything, but I didn't exactly plan to have sex with an arrogant jerk like _you_ when I woke up this morning."

"You weren't complaining when I was making you moan out my name."

Ginny went bright red. "Why you—"

He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for the incoherent stream of insults she would no doubt throw his way. What she actually threw at him was the Muggle toaster, which hit him squarely in the head.

"Have the bloody tow-star, you stupid jerk!" she screamed, and then stomped off to her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Draco stood in the kitchen, next to the discarded knickers and the psychologically-scarred Russian Blue, and laughed.

And laughed.

And kept on laughing.

Draco patted the toaster fondly, despite the bump it has caused on his forehead, and placed it on the bench. Then, with a smile still on his face, he headed for the shower. He was rather happy that package had somehow got sent to his door. He may not have learnt how to make Muggle toast, but he had certainly learnt a thing or two about his flatmate, and that was knowledge he was not going to waste.

His smile widened as he thought of the many days he and the redhead would have alone together. Blaise and Luna could stay away for as long as they liked. He was in no hurry—not with Ginny Weasley around, anyway.


	29. Lost and Found

This was written for Ky's challenge at _The DG Forum_. Prompt: a family heirloom that a runaway member of the Malfoy family took with him is discovered in the points if the discovery reveals a secret relationship between Ginny and Draco OR creates one. There were other bonus points, but I was feeling lazy. :P

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**Lost and Found**

It was a big deal when one of the Weasleys decided to leave the Burrow. Since Ginny was the last of Molly and Arthur's seven children and was planning on re-establishing herself in another country, her mother was more than usually tearful. There had been tears when Ginny had emptied her old room (Molly had insisted on overseeing the packing, and had grown rather sentimental when one of the knitted, and hideous, dolls she had made for Ginny had been found), and the tears had turned to full-blown sobs when Ginny told her mother she wanted to look through the attic to see if she had left anything since it was unlikely she'd come back to England for a while ("Oh, I can't believe my baby is really abandoning her poor mother!").

Ginny had patiently listened to her mother's woes, but it was a relief when Molly declared she was too overcome to face her daughter any longer, allowing the young redhead to escape up the stairs to the attic and find some peace and quiet. The ghoul had abandoned its post three years ago, so there was nothing to disturb Ginny except for the dust that blew up at her face in violent waves every time she shifted a box. She sneezed and coughed, cursed and groaned, but the search was not without its rewards.

It was as she was moving the last of the boxes to realign back with the dust-free squares that she saw the ring. It had fallen down behind the stacks of the Lost and Forgotten, tucked between a broken rocking horse and a broom so battered and warped it would have been useless even for sweeping. She would have missed the ring completely had a strip of sunlight not discovered its hiding spot, making it glint in dull silver. Ginny's surprise was acute. She had never thought to see _that_ ring again.

With some effort, Ginny managed to reach her hand through the gap and grab the ring. She stared at it in wonder, running her fingertip along the embossed M and intertwining serpents. She slipped the ring on her index finger, admiring its effect. The way the loop of silver dangled loosely told that the piece of jewellery was not her own. It was a man's ring—a large, square-ish creation that was designed to intimidate rather than attract. Ginny had always thought it rather ugly, but the boy who had worn it had liked it enough to steal it when running away from home. She thought it might have been an heirloom, actually.

A smile touched her lips, and she closed her eyes as she held her hand to her chest, feeling the cold metal of the ring press against her skin. It had been almost seven years since they had last seen each other. He must be twenty-three at least. She wondered what he was doing now and if he ever thought about her.

"Perhaps I should go see him," Ginny thought aloud. "I could give him his ring back."

It wasn't like it was difficult to find him. Everyone knew where Draco Malfoy lived. He may have run away from home when he was sixteen, but all had been forgiven once the war was over and the Dark Lord had been defeated. Narcissa Malfoy had made sure of that.

"What would he think if he saw me now?" Ginny mused, sitting down on one of the boxes and staring at the ring.

Draco had stayed at her house for three and a half months during the war, on Mrs Weasley's insistence—her mother never could resist a young boy in distress. The first week had been a catastrophe, with many arguments and taunts from both sides, but then boredom had forced the teenagers to band together as reluctant friends, and an impulsive kiss had done the rest. By the time he had left the Burrow, Draco had discovered all there was to know about Ginny Weasley's body, but their relationship, confusing and passionate as it was, had also come to an end. They had not spoken since, though Ginny had found herself thinking of him at random times. A particularly dissatisfying encounter with Harry Potter had been the most awkward, though it had prompted her to break up with the bespectacled hero. There was nothing like boring sex to put you off a man. She was grateful to have a good reference point in the blond to allow for comparisons.

Ginny glanced back at the imposing M on the ring, picturing the sharp-faced Malfoy in her mind. A part of her was reluctant to see him again—the reunion was bound to be awkward—but she was curious as well. Things had been left unresolved between them. She realised she wanted to see him again. Besides, she'd be leaving the country in three days. She'd probably never get a chance like this again.

Having made her decision, Ginny pocketed the ring and then dashed down the stairs, telling her father (and tearful mother) she'd be back later. Always impulsive, Ginny wasn't about to wait around or owl Draco first to see if it would be a good idea to come and visit. Her approach was rather like a sponging relative—take 'em by surprise before the doors could be barred and hope for the best. It only occurred to Ginny once she was waiting nervously outside Malfoy manor that it might have been a good idea to fix up her appearance—she had been rummaging around dusty boxes—but it was too late for that now. A house-elf was already opening the door and demanding her to state her business.

"I'd like to see Draco. Please," Ginny added, remembering her manners.

The elf told her to wait, vanished with a pop, then reappeared a few seconds later and bade her enter. Ginny was glad that obstacle had been overcome and followed the elf into the manor. Every room she passed was elegantly furbished and made her feel very out of place in her shorts and singlet. She felt like she should be wearing a cocktail dress, or the fanciest of wizarding robes. At the very least, she felt she should have done something with her hair. It was in a loose ponytail and had begun frizzing at the front.

"Master Draco is waiting for Miss in here," the elf said primly, opening one of the grand doors and gesturing for her to enter.

Ginny let out a small breath and entered the room, feeling her heart thud uncomfortably against her ribs. Why was she so nervous? It was just Draco. Draco who had battled with her for the last biscuit and who she had thrown her stinky socks at when he annoyed her; Draco who had been forced to help her de-gnome the garden after Molly caught them making mischief; Draco who had made deliciously forbidden love to her while her parents snored completely oblivious three doors down.

That same Draco turned to face her now, and Ginny's mouth formed a small 'O' as she took in his appearance. He was a couple of inches taller—and broader, in a good way—but it seemed as if he had also finally grown into his pointy features. When he was younger, he had been all sharps and angles, to the point where she had never been able to make up her mind whether she found him attractive or not. Now his chin, though pointed, had developed the strength of a man, giving his face a much more defined and mature look. His cheekbones also seemed less prominent, or maybe it was just that he didn't seem so 'pinched' anymore. In any case, there was something decidedly masculine about the blond. Combined with his striking grey eyes, long lashes, and regally arched eyebrows, Draco Malfoy was a sight indeed. The issue was no longer whether one should consider him attractive, but whether one should label him as beautiful or handsome.

"You look good," Ginny blurted without thinking, then clamped a hand over her mouth. She really needed to stop saying the first thing that came to her head.

Draco laughed, unfazed by her compliment. "I wish I could say the same for you," he responded, appraising her casual attire and messy hair.

"_Hey_!" Ginny exclaimed, putting a hand on her hip and glowering at him.

He smiled disarmingly before she could get more upset. "I'm only teasing, Ginevra."

Her heart gave an unruly flutter at hearing her name on his lips. She normally objected to anyone calling her 'Ginevra', but the way Draco said it made her legs turn wobbly and her breath catch. There was just something about the way he sounded those vowels and consonants in that cultured voice of his—like water caressing velvet: smooth and luxurious. It was even better now that he had come to his full maturity, his tone richer and lower.

Dear Merlin. If she wasn't careful, she was going to end up drooling all over his pristine floor.

Draco took a seat and gestured for her to do the same, arranging himself on the chair with such lazy grace that she felt quite envious. "So to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, considering her through amused grey eyes. "It's been, what, seven years since we last saw each other? I didn't think you'd ever speak to me again after, well . . ."

He trailed off, and Ginny knew that he, like her, was also thinking of their last conversation alone together. Not that there had been much talking. More like a lot of yelling, which had then turned into some rather heavy snogging.

Ginny pushed the memories aside and fished around in her pocket, pulling out the ring. "I found this while I was collecting my stuff from the attic. I thought you might like it back."

Draco gave a mock sigh. "I didn't think this was a social visit." His amusement vanished when he saw the ring in her hand. "Where did you find that?" he asked more seriously.

"I told you, I found it in the attic when I was packing my stuff. You must have left it there."

Draco took the ring from her and slipped it on. The ring looked like it belonged on his finger—something it had never really done before. She realised in that moment that he truly had grown up, and changed. He was more comfortable in his skin now, more assured. He was in every sense of the word a Malfoy.

"Thank you," Draco said, meeting her eyes. "I thought I'd lost this. Father will be pleased to know the ring has been found again."

"You're welcome," Ginny said with a smile. "I knew it was yours as soon as I saw it. Though I have no idea how it got in the attic. No one ever goes up there."

Draco shrugged. "Who knows? Things have a way of getting lost in the strangest places."

"I guess. It was certainly pure chance that I found it."

She wanted to say it was fate—for she doubted they would be speaking now had she not found the ring—but that was maybe pushing things too far. He'd always thought her too romantic for her own good, and she had no idea whether he was pleased to see her or not. He always had been difficult to read, preferring to put up a front of charm and gentle mockery than be honest. Besides, she didn't even know what she wanted from him.

Ginny fiddled with her hair, conscious of his eyes on her. The room suddenly seemed too small for the both of them. His gaze was making her comfortable. She wished he would say something.

Unable to handle the silence any longer, Ginny stood up. "Well, um, I only came to return your ring, so I might—"

"Leaving already, Ginevra?" he asked, staring up at her with a lazy smile.

Ginny lifted her chin. "Perhaps you didn't know, Draco, but generally people _talk_ to each other when they are together. I'm not going to sit here and have you stare at me all day. Besides, I really did only come here to return your ring."

He laughed. "You never change."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He smiled and stood up with his usual cat-like grace, stopping just before her. Ginny raised her eyes to his, feeling suddenly uncertain. She hated when he did this—the way he would crowd her space, making her feel so small and absurdly female in the shadow of his body. It was even worse now that he was older.

Draco tucked a loose strand of red behind her ear. "Why did you really come to see me today, Ginevra?" he murmured, voice intimate and silky.

She laughed a little shakily. "I told you. I found your ri—"

"Don't give me that bollocks about the ring. I'm glad you returned it to me and all, but you and I both know that isn't the only reason you came here." He held her gaze. "It's been seven years, Ginevra. That's a long time not to speak to or see someone when they're living in the same region."

"You never tried to get in contact with me either," Ginny countered, refusing to let him put this back on her.

"You told me you didn't want to see me again."

"Oh, please, like you'd actually listen to that if you really wanted me!"

A smirk tugged at his lips. "So you did want me to come back."

Ginny flushed. She had walked right into that one.

"I don't know what you're—I would never—I mean—"

Draco leaned forward and crushed his lips against hers, silencing her stammers. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, and Ginny idly wondered how it was that they always ended up snogging whenever they tried to confront each other. Not that she was complaining. Indeed, she seemed quite determined to prove she could kiss him back just as passionately, pressing herself hard against him as she used her lips to fight him in silent words.

They stumbled backwards against the bookcase, and Ginny giggled as a book dropped off the shelf and landed next to their feet, barely missing Draco's head. She pulled back from him, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Maybe we should stop," she said, trying to catch her breath.

"You're right," he responded, yet he kept his hands at her waist, as if he never wanted to let her go.

Something about that possessive grip made her go a bit more serious. "You shouldn't have kissed me, Draco."

"Why not?"

She sighed, breaking from his grip and turning away from him. "I don't want to get caught up in this—_you_—again. You confuse me. You've always confused me. Besides, I'm leaving in three days."

"Leaving?" he said sharply. "Where?"

"Japan," she said, turning back to face him. "I've been accepted to play international Quidditch there."

"_Japan_?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Draco said hastily, seeing the way her eyes flashed. "I just—Japan, huh?"

Ginny folded her arms. "It's what I want to do. The Holyhead Harpies aren't giving me a chance to be anything but a reserve; if I go to Japan, I might actually make a real career out of Quidditch."

"And that's really what you want?"

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I just never saw you as the type to go live overseas. You always seemed such a 'home' person."

Ginny shrugged. "There's nothing for me here."

"I could give you something."

Her eyes darted to his. "What?"

His smile was like a caress. "Oh, come on, Ginevra. Don't tell me you didn't come here hoping that something would be resolved between us. I know what you're like. That kiss certainly said enough."

Ginny felt her cheeks warm. Darn him for being so observant.

"And what if I did?" she asked, trying to look unconcerned.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she could see the smile had extended to his eyes, warming the grey. "Then I would tell you, Ginevra Weasley, that you would make me very happy if you would have dinner with me on Friday."

"Dinner?"

"Why not? I think we have some catching up to do, don't you?"

She grinned. "Very well, I'll have dinner with you, but you had better make it worth it. I am giving up an international Quidditch career just to have dinner with you, after all."

He laughed and leaned forward, capturing her lips in a short yet toe-curling kiss. "Oh, believe me, love; I will make it worth your while."

Ginny didn't doubt him.


	30. Birthday Wishes and Questionable Kisses

I wasn't going to write a fic for Draco's birthday, so you have Lady China to thank for this. You're lucky I was in a generous mood. ^_~

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**Birthday Wishes and Questionable Kisses**

Draco Malfoy did not like birthdays. This may come as a surprise to you since birthdays, as we know, are the only time where one actually has an excuse to be a spoilt brat; however, though the blond did enjoy the presents, undivided attention, and general pleasure of knowing the fifth of June was all about him, there was one thing he did not like: birthday kisses.

You see, Draco Malfoy was a very attractive young man, and it seemed that on his birthday every woman in the vicinity seized on the excuse of giving him a birthday wish in order to give him that most coveted birthday kiss. And if there was one thing Draco Malfoy loathed, it was having those hideous harpies put their soul-sucking lips near his face. If he was lucky, he managed to get the lip-stick smeared mouths just to graze his cheek, but often he was not lucky, and the resulting defilement left much to be desired.

Draco wouldn't have minded so much if it was just the pretty ones who gave him a kiss, but it was all them: fat women, old women, thin women, young women—even women so large and brutish that he was not entirely sure if they _were_ women. They waited for him around corners like hunting lionesses and then pounced when he least expected it, taking him so much by surprise that he barely had time to gather his wits in order to fend off their unwanted advances. It was horrifying, and that was why, this year, Draco was seen to be sneaking around the work area like an agent in a bad spy movie. He'd be damned if he'd let those sex-deprived wenches assault him again just because he was one year older.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

Draco, who had his back pressed against the wall in order to peer around to see if the coast was clear, jumped at the sound of the feminine voice and turned his head to see Ginny Weasley frowning at him. He sighed in relief; here was one female at least who would never try to kiss him just because it was his birthday.

"Ginevra," he greeted, stepping away from the wall. "I didn't see you there."

"Clearly," she said dryly. "You were too busy playing James Bond."

"What?"

"Never mind," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's a Muggle thing."

"Right," Draco responded, drawling out each letter.

Ginny folded her arms. "So who are you hiding from?"

"Hiding?" He forced a laugh. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I was just—" He floundered for a suitable lie (he certainly wasn't going to admit he actually was hiding from his female workmates; she'd never let him live down the embarrassment).

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Just what?"

"Never you mind. That's my business."

"Right," she said, echoing his own drawling tones. "So you were hiding."

"No, I was just—"

Draco paled as he heard the distinct sound of heels clicking against the linoleum floor. Judging from the snappy little _Tip Tap_, it was Veronica Appleby, that horrible blonde from the Transportation Department who liked to look at him like he was a particularly juicy piece of meat—a meat he knew she'd love to sink her teeth into. Draco grabbed Ginny by her shoulders.

"Don't let her find me!" he whispered, throwing pride to the winds. He'd do anything to avoid being trapped in Veronica Appleby's perfectly manicured claws.

Ginny gave a decidedly malicious smile. "But I thought you weren't hiding from anyone."

He scowled. "Why you treacherous little—"

The _Tip Tap_ of heels stopped. Draco froze, his face draining of colour so he looked as pearly as a ghost.

"There you are!" Veronica exclaimed in a voice dripping with well-rehearsed sexiness. "I've been looking all over for you, Draco Malfoy. Don't think I don't know what day it is."

Repressing the urge to flee with his tail between his legs, Draco turned to face the blonde, resigned to his fate. "Oh, I never doubted you'd forget, Veronica," he said with feigned politeness. "You're always so committed."

As he talked, he surreptitiously eased himself behind Ginny so that the redhead was standing between himself and the other woman. Just because he'd missed his chance to escape didn't mean he was going to make things easy for that Harpy of Nightmares.

Veronica smiled, revealing a row of surprisingly sharp teeth. "Well, it is your special day, Draco." She took a step forward, and he could see by the hungry glint in her eyes that she fully intended to grab him and kiss him. "It's only fitting I pay my respects to the birthday boy."

"I'd rather you not," Draco responded, placing a hand on Ginny's shoulder and holding her out like a shield against the blonde. "Ginevra and I have some things to discuss, you see."

"We do?" Ginny asked, turning her head back to look at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

He tightened his grip. "Yes, Ginevra, we do."

Veronica licked her lips. "Oh, I'm sure Weasley here won't mind if I steal your time for a few seconds." She looked at him innocently. "I only want to wish you happy birthday."

Ginny gave an inelegant snort. "Sure you do."

Draco stepped back as Veronica took another step forward, pulling Ginny with him since he was still holding her out like a shield. "I can receive your birthday wishes quite easily from here, Veronica."

"But that's not as fun," she pouted.

"Well, I guess that's your loss," Draco said bluntly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Ginevra and I have to go do some, er, business."

Without waiting for the blonde's response, he turned and dragged Ginny down the hallway, hurrying as fast as his legs could carry him all the way back to their office. He slammed the door shut behind them and locked it, letting out a deep breath as he realised he was safe for now.

"What in earth was that all about?" Ginny demanded, barely managing to contain her chuckles.

"It's my birthday."

"Yes, Draco, I did gather that."

"Well, Ginevra, when it's my birthday all the women in this place go crazy and think it is their mission to give me a birthday kiss. Even old Doris managed to snog me last year, and she wasn't wearing her teeth at the time!"

He shuddered at the memory. He still had nightmares about that gummy mouth.

Ginny gave a derisive snort as she perched on the edge of his desk. "I don't know why they'd want to kiss _you_."

She said it as if he was some kind of repulsive creature, like a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Draco straightened haughtily. "Unlike you, Ginevra, some women actually have taste. I can't help it they can't resist my dashing good looks and debonair ways."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Perhaps you should try to be less dashing and debonair then, Mr I'm-So-Wonderful; those women might leave you alone that way."

"I can't change the way I was made."

She gave another snort. "Right."

"You're lucky you're not a dragon, Ginevra. You'd end up shooting flames with the way you're snorting about lately."

Ginny folded her arms, staring at him in a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "What kind of comeback is that?"

"A very witty one."

"And here I thought you couldn't get any more delusional."

Draco ignored her; he had gone back to brooding about his current predicament.

"I knew I should have called in sick," he muttered, leaning his head back against the door. "Those women are never going to leave me alone."

"Oh, come on, Draco. It can't be _that_ bad."

"But it is, Ginevra! It is! You saw Veronica—they're all bloody like that. I can't even leave this office without being accosted by some horrid female wanting to kiss me."

"Well, you know what the solution is, don't you?"

"What?"

"Become ugly. Or throw yourself off a bridge. I'd recommend the latter. You'll never be troubled by women after that, and I might finally get some peace as well."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're so comforting, Ginevra. I don't know why I don't come to you for advice more often."

She grinned. "I know. I should be an advice guru."

There was a knock at the door. Draco leapt away from it as though burned.

"Yoo-hoo!" a brassy female voice called. "Mr Malfoy, I've got some papers here for you! And a little something else as well . . ."

"Tisbetha," Draco moaned, backing further from the door. "She was that loud one who managed to corner me last year."

"I take it you didn't enjoy your birthday kiss from Tisbetha?"

He scrunched up his face in distaste. "She managed to shove her tongue in my mouth. I thought I was going to vomit."

Ginny laughed. "Poor baby."

"It's not funny," he retorted, folding his arms crossly. "This is sexual harassment, you know. Not that any of you man-eating women care. Oh, no. It's only harassment if it's the guy doing the harassing."

_Knock, Knock, Knock._

"Mr Malfoy, dear. Aren't you going to unlock the door? I know you're in there!"

Draco gripped Ginny by her arms. "Weasley, if you care for me at all, you will not let that beast parading as a witch find me. _Please_."

He looked so pathetic that even her merciless heart was prickled with compassion.

"Very well. Under the desk with you."

"Thank you!" Draco murmured, and ducked under the desk. It was very uncomfortable—he was a tall man—but if it meant escaping Tisbetha, he was willing to put up with a bit of discomfort and humiliation.

Ginny used her wand to unlock the door. "Come in, Tisbetha."

The door opened and a busty woman with chestnut curls waltzed in. "Now, Mr Malfoy, since I know it's your birthda—" She fell silent when she saw no sign of the blond. "Where's Draco?"

"Oh, he's not here."

Tisbetha frowned. "Really? I could have sworn he just came in here with you."

"Nope. He went for his lunch break. I think he was tired of being attacked."

"Attacked? Who would attack him?"

"Gee, I wonder," Ginny said wryly.

Tisbetha sighed. "That's frustrating. I wanted to be the first to give him his birthday kiss."

"What a shame. I guess you'll just have to try again later." Ginny stood up from the desk. "Now, then, you said you had some papers? I'll take them."

"Oh, no, Ginny. I couldn't let you ta—"

"Please, Tisbetha. It's the least I can do. Besides, Draco and I are partners; I'm sure I am quite capable of taking the papers just this once."

Tisbetha reluctantly relinquished her papers—and her excuse to come and talk to Draco later—and then left the room. Ginny dusted her hands, well satisfied with her efforts, and then glanced back at the desk where Draco was hiding. An amused smile curved her lips.

"You can come out now, little wizard in distress. I have got rid of the nasty monster for you."

"Oh, shut up," Draco muttered, clambering out from under his pokey hiding spot and stretching to ease his cramped muscles.

"What, no thank you? How ungrateful of you."

"I am grateful," Draco said bluntly. "That woman is more frightening than my mother, and that's saying something."

Ginny laughed. "Well, you don't have to worry about her now. Of course, I can't say the same for every other female in the building."

"I'm sure they'll try their best to pounce on me," he said gloomily. "I wouldn't be surprised if they're currently setting up a stakeout outside the men's loo just in case I go that way."

"Aww, poor darling. You really don't enjoy this, do you?"

He shook his head. "It's awful. I can't do anything without being accosted by some psychotic female. You're the only one who doesn't try to kiss me."

"That's because I'm not desperate."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that only desperate women want to kiss me?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying, Draco."

"I'll have you know, Ginevra, that many women of the highest calibre have sought me as a boyfriend. I'm a very desirable man."

"And egotistical too, it would seem."

"For good reason."

"Oh, really? And what makes you so amazing, Draco?"

"Well, for one, I'm incomparably handsome."

"Yes, I believe you've mentioned that a few times today," Ginny said with an amused smile.

"I'm also rich, have impeccable taste in fashion, and am a good conversationalist."

"My, my! What a fine male specimen you are! I don't know how I didn't see it before!"

He leaned in closer, meeting her eyes with a smirk. "I'm a good kisser as well."

"Are you now?"

"Mhm." He tucked a loose strand of red behind her ear. "Very, very good."

"Is that supposed to make me fall at your feet?"

"It might."

She laughed softly. "You are so ridiculous, Draco."

Before he could respond, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against, kissing him deeply as she fisted a hand in his hair. He hadn't been expecting it—they often teased each other in that way—but as soon as he felt those velvety lips brush more demandingly against his, he realised that kissing Ginevra Weasley was something he had wanted to do for a long time.

She pulled back, licking her lips as she looked up at him through darkened eyes. "Happy birthday, Draco."

Draco smirked. "You know, I believe that is the first birthday kiss I have not found revolting, though I think we need to repeat the process. I don't believe you were quite in the spirit of it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Really," he murmured, and kissed her.


	31. The Toad Who Was Not Quite a Prince

This was originally written for a challenge at **The DG Forum**, in which we are asked to write a DG one-shot focussing on a summer trip to Diagon Alley and a lost toad. Then I went way over the word limit, so I decided to just post it as is and forget the challenge rather than trying to cut it down. Sorry, Hester. :(

* * *

**The Toad Who Was Not Quite a Prince**

The toad was glaring at her. Ginny stared at it warily, wondering when her friend's pet had got so grumpy, though perhaps it was just annoyed it had got caught. Neville had lost Trevor while waiting for his grandma in Flourish and Blotts (actually, he'd managed to knock over a display stand, tripped over his own robe, and then, when he'd finally got back to his feet, Trevor was nowhere to be seen). Since Ginny had been standing not far from him, he'd requested her aid and together they'd set off in search for the wayward amphibian, eventually splitting up when they realised they were getting nowhere. Now, as Ginny met Trevor's scowl—and, yes, it really was scowling—she felt another prickle of uncertainty. Was this really Neville's toad?

"There you are!"

Ginny turned to see Neville racing towards her, also clutching a toad in his hands. "I found him!" he exclaimed, then stopped short when he saw what she was holding. "Whose toad is that?"

"I thought it was Trevor . . ."

Neville stared at the toad, who glared right back. "That's not Trevor."

"Then whose toad is this?" Ginny wailed, horrified at the idea that she had been running all over Diagon Alley to catch a slimy toad that wasn't even Neville's.

"I don't know, but this is definitely Trevor—see, he's got this little spot on his belly," Neville responded, holding up his toad, who croaked happily.

"Well, what should I do with this one?" Ginny demanded, resisting the urge to throw the slimy, glowering thing away. She'd just spent the past twenty minutes trying to catch it; she wasn't about to toss it now.

"Return it to its owner?" Neville suggested.

An old woman in a vulture hat appeared at the end of the side-street. "Neville Longbottom, where have you been? Do you know how long I've been waiting for you?"

"Oh, shoot! It's Gran," Neville muttered, looking pale. "I better go!"

"Wait!" Ginny cried.

But the round-faced boy had already dashed off, leaving her alone with the toad who was not Trevor.

"I'm going to kill him," Ginny told the toad darkly. "How dare he make me chase after his stupid pet and then leave me here with you!"

The toad gave her a snooty croak, as if saying that it didn't want to be held by her anyway.

"Great," she muttered. "Even the toad is treating me like dirt."

"_Croak. Croak. Croak."_

"Oh, shut up," Ginny snapped.

The toad fell silent, watching her for a moment, and then it caught sight of her wand sticking out of her pocket. It started croaking again, struggling against her grip as it tried to get to the wand.

"What the—" Ginny began, but then there was a flash of light and suddenly the toad was on the ground, staring balefully at its slimy body.

"Damn!" the toad sighed. "I was sure that would work."

Ginny gasped. "You spoke!"

The toad raised its peculiarly sharp eyes to hers, giving her an expression that said with perfect sarcasm, 'thank you for stating the obvious'.

"But how?" she continued, ignoring the silent barb.

"Because I'm not a bloody toad," the slimy thing snapped. "What do you think?"

"You weren't talking before," Ginny said accusingly. She'd heard enough of his—yes, it was a 'he'—infernal croaking to know that he couldn't speak.

"I tried to cast a spell with your wand to change me back, but all it seems to have done is return my voice. This body obviously doesn't allow me to cast magic properly."

He sighed, then flicked out his tongue instinctively to catch a fly that was buzzing near him. Ginny screwed up her face in distaste.

"Well, you look and act pretty toad-like to me," she observed.

"That's because you're stupid."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Great, a toad with a mouth. I think I liked it better when all you could do was croak."

"Shut up, Weasley, I'm trying to think."

"How do you know my name?"

But the toad wasn't listening.

"Looks like there's nothing for it," he said more to himself, then hopped around to face her, staring up at her through bulbous grey eyes. "You're going to have to kiss me."

"_What_?"

"It's the only way to turn me back."

"I am _not_ kissing you!"

"I don't see what the big deal is," the toad said haughtily. "You've snogged Potter, and he's much worse than a toad. Kissing him is like kissing a hairy troll's backside."

"And you'd know?" she asked wryly.

He gave a delicate shudder. "Hardly. Now are you going to kiss me or not? I haven't got all day, you know. I need this curse to be broken before it becomes permanent." A dark look crept into his eyes. "And if I see that backstabbing old hag again, I'll . . ."

Ginny frowned, listening to him grumble about all the different ways he'd like to murder the 'backstabbing hag' who supposedly had cursed him.

"Are you really not a toad?" she asked.

"Haven't I just been telling you that? Gods, Weasley, and I thought you couldn't get any stupider."

"Keep talking like that and I won't give you anything, toad-boy."

They glared at each other for a long moment, and then Ginny let out a small sigh.

"Fine," she said. "I suppose it can't hurt to give you one kiss."

"Excellent."

"But no tongue. You keep that creepy thing away from me."

"Just hurry up," the toad snapped.

Ginny leaned down and scooped the toad up into her hands, trying not to pull a face as she brought it closer to her. It was repulsive to look at, and the thought of putting her lips near its slimy mouth made her want to gag. But if it really wasn't a toad . . .

_Here goes nothing,_ she thought, and then kissed it on its toady lips.

The kiss was cold, slimy and . . . disgusting.

_Gross_! _Gross! Gross!_ Ginny thought, and was about to wrench her lips away when suddenly there was a blinding flash of light, and the lips beneath her own were no longer cold and slimy, but warm and firm, just the way she liked it. She blinked and pulled away, meeting the sharp grey eyes staring back at her—eyes that were no longer bulbous and creepy, but beautiful and undeniably human. Indeed, there was no trace of the grumpy toad in this tall, handsome boy, though his mouth still had a scowlish look about it.

"Oh my gosh!" Ginny exclaimed, realising who she had just kissed. "You're Draco Malfoy!"

"You do love to state the obvious, don't you?" he sneered, brushing down his robes.

Ginny closed her mouth. "Excuse me, but I did just break the spell on you!"

"I know. I'm probably diseased. Next thing I'll be sprouting freckles and red hair."

"_Oh_!" Ginny cried, and promptly slapped him in the face. "I wish I'd left you as a toad!"

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, rubbing his stinging cheek. "What the heck was that for?"

"You know exactly what that was for!"

They glowered at each other, and then Draco slowly relaxed, releasing the tension in his jaw.

"Fine," he said grudgingly. "I admit that was uncalled for."

"You think?"

His eyes narrowed. "Don't push your luck."

"I'm sorry, toad-boy. Am I supposed to be grateful for that apology? If you even call that an apology."

"Better get used to it, Weasley, because that's the only apology you'll get."

Ginny placed her hands on her hips. "You know, Malfoy, I can see why you got turned into a toad. For once your face finally matched your personality—ugly."

To her surprise, he only smirked.

"You think I'm good looking, Weasley?"

She blushed. "What? No! Why would you—_No_!"

He laughed. "You do, don't you?"

"No I do _not_!"

"It's okay, Weasley. You can admit it. Most girls do think I'm handsome."

"Ugh! You're impossible!"

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself.

Ginny held her chin high. "I'm leaving!"

"Sure, whatever. But you'll be back."

Ginny paused in her stomping—the only way to make a grand exit—and glanced back to meet his cocky smirk. "As if, toad-boy. I wouldn't come near you even if—even if—"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Even if what?"

"Even if my life depended on it!"

"I thought it might be something like that," he said, unimpressed.

Ginny went a bit pink. "What's it to you, anyway?" she demanded. "You were the one who said you'd be diseased from kissing me."

He shrugged. "You're a Weasley; I can't help myself."

"_Oh_!"

He caught her hand before she could slap him again. "I'd really rather you didn't do that."

Ginny glared at him. "Let me go."

A smile danced in his eyes. "No, I don't think I will."

She sucked in a breath as he moved closer, suddenly uncertain. "What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"Thanking you."

"_Thanking_ _m_—"

Her words were cut off as he pressed his lips against hers, kissing her so thoroughly that Ginny felt her knees go a bit weak and had to clutch at his robes to stay upright. She pulled back with a gasp, her heart racing in her chest and her stomach fluttering with butterflies. Draco smirked, not oblivious to the effect he'd had on her.

"Still wish you'd left me as a toad?" he asked, half-taunting, half-caressing.

"I don't know, toad-boy. Still think I'll make you diseased?"

"You're a Weasley, aren't you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up," she muttered, and dragged him down by his collar and kissed him.


	32. The Muse

This was written for Britt's challenge at _**The DG Forum**_, in which we were asked to write a DG fic based on one of the 'arts', such as painting, dance, music, etc. Bonus points if any kind of jewel makes an appearance, if the phrase "I lose myself in (insert 'art') and never want to come back out" is used, and if Draco or Ginny eats a Muggle sweet.

I actually wasn't going to write anything for this challenge, as my first attempt failed spectacularly and then I just got caught up in work so there seemed little point in even trying to find the time to write something. Then, while I was on my break today, I just happened to be listening to Artesia's _Priere au Mortel_ and this idea came to me. It's definitely not the humorous one-shot I was originally going for, but I hope you like it. I recommend listening to the song while reading—it definitely helps set the mood.

* * *

**The Muse**

She was all red and cream: an amalgamation of fire and snow forming the shape of a woman. Black silk draped around her like a veil, artfully cradling her nakedness and dripping down off the bed like a river of onyx, as if the very shadow of her being was trying to fill the room, swallowing all in her essence. She appeared passive as she reclined against the pillows, yet there was a hint of the huntress in her languid limbs and watchful brown eyes. For now she was relaxed, but he knew she was by no means submissive—knew it even as his eyes centred on her blood-coloured lips and saw the slight indentation of a smile. A predator's smile.

He followed the long curve of her neck with his gaze, travelling down the smooth ridges of her collarbone to where a necklace of obsidian burned against her skin in a constellation of black stars. The chain of jewels was tight around her throat, keeping her in place like a collar used to tame a wild animal, and binding her to the brush in his hand with an invisible leash. She was too dangerous to be let loose, too independent to obey him without a physical reminder of his ownership, but there were times when he wondered if he was only deluding himself in thinking he could control her; times, like now, when he wondered if the brush in his hand was the real collar, and it was he who was chained to her like a dog to its master.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice rolling silkily off her tongue like liquid honey. "Do you want me to move into a different angle?"

He shook his head, trying to clear his disjointed thoughts. "I—it's nothing. I was just thinking."

She laughed, and for a moment he felt as he if were trapped in a cage of bell-like ringing, feeling the tinkling bars of her laughter closing in on him until he couldn't breathe.

"Well, don't take all day thinking, Draco," she teased, smiling at him through half-lidded eyes. "As much as I enjoy posing for you, there's only so long I am willing to stay in the same position."

He nodded, but beneath his calm exterior he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs in a bloody barrage, pumping his blood faster and faster throughout his body until he felt sick. He remembered telling her once that he liked to lose himself in his art and that, sometimes, he never wanted to come back out because the world of his paintings was more real and beautiful to him than that of his own reality. Now, looking into her intense brown eyes, the paintbrush still poised in his hand, he felt as if he really was losing himself, falling down and down and down into an abyss where only she existed.

_I need to stop painting her._

The thought sprung to his mind almost of its own volition, but he banished it at once. It was foolish to even consider not using her as his model. She was the fire that gave life to his paintbrush, the idea that shaped his creative vision. He couldn't stop painting her. He _needed_ her. He needed to look, to create her face over and over, as if he could somehow solve the enigma that was her identity with each new image he brought to life. She was his muse, his masterpiece—all that made him who he was.

But no, that wasn't right. He was the artist: the one who creates and who gives colour to her blank canvas. She would be nothing without him. Nothing. So why did it feel like he was the one being slowly erased under a palette of red and cream? Why did it feel like he was the one whose identity was being unpicked with each new image he painted of her face, like a tapestry losing its threads?

The muse smiled at him, showing a row of sharp teeth beneath her blood-coloured lips. Draco's heart quickened, injected with uncertainty, and the hollow sickness inside him seemed to expand, creating a void of nothing where his soul should have been. The line between reality and illusion was fading, even as the paint dried on the smooth bristles of his brush. He could hear the doors closing behind him now, shutting him away from any hope of escape. There was no key, no handle. There was only a blank canvas and her face—a face that needed to be painted.

A face that consumed all.

He inhaled sharply, but no air entered to relieve his aching lungs. He felt like he was drowning—no, not drowning; it was more as if his essence was being sucked out of him, like a vampire draining his life. His blood flowed, but only to fuel her veins; his heart continued to beat, but only to hide the silent echoes of her own. He was the colours that gave her shape, but she was the image that dominated all.

"What's the matter, Draco?" she asked again, stretching her long, sensuous limbs as she sat up to look at him properly. "You look a little lost."

Draco met her eyes—eyes that had once been so alluring and perfect to his painter's gaze, but now only glowed with dark intentions. He didn't know what had gone wrong. It was only supposed to be a few paintings. Just some simple paintings. It wasn't like he had needed the money. He was a Malfoy, a man of position, though he didn't feel that way now. He felt like a shade about to be swallowed by the brilliance of her fire, eaten away by his own obsession until he was vanquished into nothing.

_I need to stop painting her._

The thought was stronger now, but he still resisted the idea. She was his muse. His passion. He couldn't let her go. Not even now when he knew her very presence was stripping his soul away like the unwanted portrait on a recyclable canvas, erased so something new and better could take its place.

"Draco?" she prompted, getting off the bed and walking towards him—all fire and bare flesh, a living, breathing masterpiece that demanded to be reborn in paint.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out her image, but he could not blind himself to the warm touch of her hands on his face or the seductive scent of her perfume that wrapped itself around him like a cloak of desire. She was everywhere, filling every space with her presence.

"Look at me, darling," she commanded, and he found himself obeying despite his own misgivings. She smiled at him and trailed a finger caressingly along his jaw. "Now then, why are you standing here so broodingly when you're supposed to be painting me?"

There was a teasing glint in her eyes, but her good humour only made the hollowness inside him become all the more poignant. He couldn't stand to look at her at that moment, even though a part of him continued to rejoice in her consuming beauty—a paradox of pleasure and pain. He dropped his gaze to the necklace hanging at her throat where he could see the barest glimpse of his reflection mirrored on the dark surface. On instinct he reached out to touch the black stones, but her hand closed around his fingers, forcing him to meet her eyes once more. Her touch was fire, but it was also death.

"Speak to me, darling," she said in that voice of honey and silk. "Tell me what is wrong."

Draco shook his head. Everything was wrong. He knew it to be true now, but he didn't say that. He simply leaned down and kissed his muse on her blood-coloured lips.

"Nothing is wrong, Ginevra," he lied. "Nothing at all."


	33. Fantasy Fling

This was written for Farrha's Birthday Gift Challenge. The guidelines were: DG, the Weasley twins, pranks and Luna. No fluff, but fun, snarky and an unfortunate encounter with the Twins' Patented Daydream Charm. Should be at least 500 words.

I will state now that I detest writing 'prank' fics, and I'm not a huge fan of the twins either; however, since this is for Farrha's birthday, I figured I would try to put my natural aversion aside and write a challenge response for her. Thank goodness for the no fluff rule.

* * *

**Fantasy Fling**

"We need some fresh victims," Fred Weasley mused, casting his eyes about the Great Hall.

"You mean test subjects," George corrected.

"Right. That's what I meant. Test subjects."

The twins stared at each other and cracked identical evil grins. Victim was definitely the better description. They had recently created a charm that would cause the subject to fall into a romantic daydream about a selected person. Depending on how intensely the charm had been cast, the subject could find his or herself fantasising about kissing the selected target to ripping off the other's clothes and engaging in the most wild of sex. However, a broader range of test results were needed before the twins could truly be certain they had perfected the charm, and to get more test results, they needed more test subjects.

"How about Malfoy and his goons?" George suggested. "They're always fun to torment."

"Might be difficult getting the information from them," Fred said, rubbing his chin. "It's not like last time when we just had to watch and see whether their skin turned blue from that blueberry pie we had Dobby place on their table."

"Very true, Fred. Very true."

"I could help," a whimsical voice offered from behind them.

The brothers swung around in unison. Luna Lovegood smiled up at them, dreamy and odd as ever. Today she was wearing a necklace that looked like it had been made of toothpaste caps. The twins, however, spared little glance for her attire. They were more disturbed at the thought that she had been listening in on their conversation, feeling it a blow to their deviousness as mischief makers.

Fred folded his arms across his chest as he stared down at her. "Have you been eavesdropping on private conversations again, Miss Lovegood?"

"Yes," she said simply. "And if you want to use your charm on Draco Malfoy and his friends, I do believe I can help."

George took an identical stance to his twin. "And how do you propose to help us?"

She gave a dreamy smile. "I can monitor them and ask questions, of course. Everyone knows you two get up to pranks, but no one would suspect me of doing so."

"She's got a point," George said in a lower voice to his twin. "People think she's so weird they wouldn't suspect a thing if she asked them what kind of fantasies they had been having of late."

Fred shared a long look with his brother, as if speaking telepathically. Both redheads then turned to face Luna. "Very well," they said in unison, "we'll accept your offer, but no one can hear about this."

"Oh, don't worry," she said airily, "I won't tell anyone."

The twins stared at her suspiciously for a moment but decided she was telling the truth. They proceeded to tell her more about the charm and what fantasy they wanted Malfoy and his friends to have—a racy little number involving Snape, Trelawney and the giant squid. Luna listened politely, but underneath her wide-eyed gaze and dreamy smile, she was busy making her own plans. Draco Malfoy was going to have a fantasy, alright, but it would have nothing to do with his Head of House, the sherry addicted Seer, or the giant squid. No, she had a much better plan.

Luna's protuberant blue eyes levelled on Ginny Weasley and a small smile curved her lips. She wondered if Ginny and Draco would be quite so eager to engage in their far too vocal arguments in the library once they had fantasised about shagging each other. At the very least, she hoped the red aura they created during their disputes would leave so that the Crimpy-Pinks would come back to live in the bookshelves. Luna did so miss their furry little faces.

"Do you understand, Luna?" George asked, oblivious to the blonde's nefarious plans.

"Oh, yes," she said in her oddly whimsical yet matter-of-fact voice. "I understand completely, and I think I should cast the charm."

Fred and George protested, but Luna was quite adamant and eventually managed to persuade the twins to her cause. She knew how to get her way when necessary.

Her eyes rested on the haughty blond sitting at the Slytherin table, and another smile curved her lips. It was time to test if the line between love and hate really was as thin as people thought.

**oOo**

Draco Malfoy was not in a good mood. His final exams for his OWLS were coming up, but every time he went to go and study in the library that damned redhead was there at his table, and always sitting on _his_ chair. It had annoyed him at first, but now it truly grated on his nerves. Everyone knew that was his table and his spot. He'd even made Crabbe and Goyle guard the seat sometimes just so he could be certain no one would usurp his library throne; however, that stupid Weasley chit didn't seem to understand basic Hogwarts' protocol—a protocol that insisted Draco Malfoy should always get his way. No, she had just sat down on his chair one day and had refused to move. So began the infamous library battles between Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley.

At first Draco had simply tried to assert his authority and make her leave, but Ginny was a stubborn Gryffindor and had told him in no uncertain terms to get the hell out of her face before she hexed his balls off. Draco, not used to being denied, quickly lost his temper. That was when things got really ugly. Insults had been thrown, threats had been made, Crabbe and Goyle were set on her like wild dogs, but none of it had any impact on the redhead in question. Like a true Gryffindor, she had refused to give up, and eventually Draco had been forced to sit at a different table. He had sworn to put her back in her place, however, and so each day the battle began anew—sometimes with Draco winning the seat, and sometimes Ginny. Today, it was the redhead who had claimed the table for her study time. Somehow, she had managed to get to the library before him again.

"Damn that little bint," Draco muttered, scowling at the girl as she sat quite contentedly in his favourite spot.

He did not have Crabbe and Goyle as backup today, but that didn't bother him. The two were never particularly useful for his fights with the youngest Weasley, since Draco would never let them physically hurt the girl—there were some things even he could not tolerate—and neither of them were good with spells. Besides, most of his disputes with the redhead consisted of a lot of verbal abuse. It was very rare they actually resorted to wands.

Ginny raised her head from her book and stared directly at him, as if she had sensed his gaze. A little smile curled her lips as their eyes met, challenging him to try and move her. Draco gritted his teeth. How he hated that smile.

"That's it," he growled, stalking towards her. "I'm putting an end to this right now."

Ginny saw him coming and put her book down, relaxing back in her chair as she smiled up at him. "Can I help you, Malfoy?" she asked, smug and annoying as ever.

Draco stopped in front of her, arms folded. "Yeah, Weasley, you can get out of my seat."

She made a show of pondering the matter for a moment. "No, I don't think I will."

He restrained his temper with an effort. "I'm really not in the mood for this, Weasley. Get the hell off my seat or I swear I will force you to get off."

"How do you plan to do that?" she asked, observing him with interest. "You've been making that same threat for weeks now and I have yet to see you actually succeed."

Draco planted his hands on the table, looming over her with his considerable height. "Listen, Weasley," he hissed, grey eyes smouldering with suppressed frustration. "This has been my spot for the past five years. I am not about to let your freckly little arse ruin that, so why don't you just get off the chair like a good girl and go and find your own spot."

Ginny tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Tempting, but no. I think I'll just stay here. I rather like this spot."

His jaw tightened and he leaned in closer so that their faces were inches apart.

"Get off the chair, Weasley."

She lifted her chin. "No."

Grey clashed with brown, tangling in a mixture of amusement and rage. Draco gripped the table, making his knuckles burn white. In his mind he told himself over and over again that it would not be a good idea to strangle the little bint sitting before him, despite how tempting that slender neck looked. He had to stay calm. He had to get that damned redhead off his chair. He had to—

Something warm brushed against the back of his head and a hazy glaze suddenly passed over his eyes. He shook his head slightly, trying to string his disjointed thoughts together, but he felt like his mind had become filled with cobwebs.

"Malfoy?"

Draco focussed his attention back on Ginny, only to pause in surprise as he realised just how close they were. He could determine every shade of brown that made up her eyes, count every freckle on her nose and cheeks, and then his gaze rested on her lips. Those full, velvety looking lips. He'd never realised how perfect they were, with her bottom lip jutting out just a little into a natural pout, so soft and kissable. So undeniably tempting.

Ginny exhaled softly as the silence dragged out between them, her breath brushing his face like the lightest of butterfly caresses. A shiver travelled down his spine at the contact, igniting his blood at the base and flowing through his veins in a stream of fire. In that moment he wanted to close the distance between them. He wanted to taste those impossibly soft lips and run his hands through her obnoxiously red hair. He wanted to let their breath intermingle in a hot collision of passion and desire and drown in her very essence. He wanted _her_—all of her—and he would not rest until he was satisfied.

Their eyes met, and he could see the way her pupils dilated, spreading out in a pool of black to darken her normally cinnamon brown irises.

"_Come __on,__"_ those eyes seemed to say. _"__I __dare __you __to __try __it.__"_

Draco released his grip on the table and took her face in his hands. She held his gaze steadily, but he heard the way her breath caught and felt the little tremble that went through her body. A smile curved his mouth—it was about time he managed to shake her calm—and then he closed the last few inches between them and pressed his lips firmly against hers.

"Oh," she gasped, pulling back in surprise.

He understood her confusion. The moment their lips had met it was as if a shock of energy had closed around his every nerve, making his body hum with exhilaration and pleasure.

"Did you—?" she began.

He nodded.

They stared at each other for a moment and then he was kissing her again—kissing her so passionately and thoroughly that there didn't seem to be enough oxygen getting to his lungs. He pulled her up from the chair as he deepened the kiss, placing himself between her and the table to get into a more comfortable position. A content little moan purred in her throat as their bodies brushed against each other in all the right places, and he was conscious of her thigh sliding up against his leg, sending another shock of desire through his blood.

"Gods, I hate you," she whispered between kisses, fisting a hand in his hair.

"The feeling is mutual," he responded, gripping her hip as he transferred his attentions to her neck.

No thought of strangling her entered his brain. He just wanted to taste the hypersensitive skin and feel her pulse quicken against his mouth, among other things. Hell, if he had his way he'd plant her on the table right now and shag her senseless, immersing himself in the warmth and mind-blowing pleasure her body could give. He was sure the little spit fire would be quite the ride; she certainly was feisty enough during their arguments.

And then everything stopped.

Draco blinked, momentarily disorientated as he realised he was back to looming over the redhead with his hands planted on the table. She looked just as confused. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was half-open, as if she were about to say something but couldn't quite form the sound.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed finally, leaning back in her chair to put some distance between them while staring at him like he had just sprouted an extra head.

Draco blinked again, still feeling a little slow and stupid, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep. "I don't understand," he said dazedly. "Weren't we just—"

He rubbed a hand against his forehead, trying to piece together the muddled mixture of images in his mind. What the heck had just happened?

The two teenagers stared at each other, no longer taunting or angry but merely confused. Draco wondered if he was going insane. He was certain he had just had a fantasy about snogging Ginny Weasley, but that couldn't be right. He hated the stupid bint.

Ginny glared at him, but there was a wary glint to her eyes, as if she was no longer quite certain how to respond to him now. He understood the feeling. It was difficult to loathe someone's guts when you had just imagined yourself wanting to shag the person senseless on your favourite library table. He could still feel her body pressed so soft and temptingly against his, not to mention the warm, silky feeling of her lips.

Oh, gods. This had to stop before he did something stupid.

Apparently, Ginny had a similar idea because she sprang up from the chair. "The spot is all yours, Malfoy," she said in a harried voice, shoving her belongings in her bag. "I'm sure I can study somewhere else."

Draco frowned as he watched her side-step him to leave, but then she paused and glanced back at him. Their eyes met and just like that a hundred images of the two of them kissing passed before his mind, reawakening him to the fact that he was feeling very sexually frustrated right now. Ginny let out a sharp little gasp and stared at him with eyes as wide as tea saucers. He wondered for a painfully embarrassing moment if his arousal had shown in his expression.

"I have to go," Ginny said in a squeaky voice and all but ran out of the library.

Draco stared after her retreating figure in confusion. That was when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He glanced down and saw Luna Lovegood peering up at him.

"Hello, Draco," she said dreamily. "I wanted to ask you if you've been having any odd fantasies lately."

Draco felt his cheeks burn with unfamiliar warmth as he remembered his recent fantasy with Ginny Weasley. Instead of answering her question, however, he simply muttered something about crazy Ravenclaws and marched out of the library, wanting to put as much distance between him and that damned table as was possible.

Luna turned and smiled at the furry Crimpy-Pink floating beside her. "Mission accomplished."


	34. Haircut

This was written for my own challenge at _**The DG Forum**_. The prompt was 'haircut' and the story itself had to be at least 300 words.

* * *

**Haircut**

Draco Malfoy was not prone to pausing to help a crying female. His life was one of self-absorbed pleasure and a sobbing mess of red hair and freckles was not likely to add to that pleasure. Unfortunately, this sobbing female just happened to have been huddled on the floor right where he had been planning to walk, and it was quite difficult to ignore someone who had just made him trip.

Cursing in surprise, Draco placed his hand against the wall to steady his balance and then glared down at the person who had been so foolish enough as to get in his way. A face, hideously red from crying, peered back at him with a scowl.

"Watch it!" they cried in unison.

Draco straightened to his full height. "Excuse me, but I was not the one sitting in the middle of the hallway."

"I'm not sitting in the middle of the hallway! I'm leaning against the wall, and it's not my problem your big clown feet can't walk in a straight line without tripping over something!"

"Clown feet! I'll have you know that—"

The Weasley girl—Ginny he thought her name was—hid her face back against her knees and covered her hair with her hands. "I don't care, Malfoy! Just go away!"

A crease formed on his brow. It had occurred to him that she was genuinely upset about something, and that something had nothing to do with him. Being the thoughtful boy that he was, he decided to get to the bottom of it ... and tease her remorsefully if he could.

"Something bothering you, Weasley?" he drawled, propping his back against the wall and looking down at her through half-lidded eyes.

Ginny made an odd little sound, almost like a sob, and clutched her hair more tightly. That was when he noticed the flaming red strands, which normally reached down below her waist, had been mutilated into a lopsided mess that barely touched her shoulders. His eyes glittered with all the glee of a torturer who has just found his latest victim.

"Weasley," he said in a voice dripping with mockery, "what have you done to your hair?"

Ginny groaned and released the red strands, raising her face just enough to glower at him. "What do you think, you idiot?"

"I don't know," he responded, and his lips curved into a smirk. "I can't profess to comprehend the minds of plebeians such as yourself; for all I know you might think that travesty you call a hairstyle is actually fashionable. I mean, you dated Potter. That says it all."

The look she gave him would have made a lesser boy flee for the hills. Draco simply folded his arms across his chest and allowed his smirk to grow.

"If you really must know, _Malfoy_," she retorted, emphasising his name as if it were a particularly foul disease, "I was getting tired of my long hair and, since Lavender often does the girls' hair in our dorms, I asked if she would cut it for me." Her mouth twisted into a scowl. "Of course, I forgot that Lavender is a jealous little toad and would sabotage anything if she thought it would let her get a boy she wanted. My hair is ruined, and now no boy will look twice at me!"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You actually let that twit Lavender Brown cut your hair?"

Ginny's mouth quivered into a smile. "She's actually quite good, when she's not acting like a jealous—"

"Little toad," Draco finished for her. "I know."

Ginny sighed and buried her face into her knees, clearly upset. Draco considered her for a moment and a rare stab of pity stirred his heart.

"For Salazar's sake, Weasley, stop acting so pathetic," he scolded.

"Excuse me?" she demanded, but Draco ploughed on before she could retaliate.

"Stand up," he ordered.

Ginny glowered at him but still got to her feet. "What?" she snapped, folding her arms.

Draco met her eyes steadily. "This will be much easier if you shut up."

She opened her mouth to retort, but something about the way he raised his eyebrow had her falling silent again. Satisfied, Draco walked in a slow circle around her, examining the jagged and lopsided strands of red hair. He paused when he was half-way and pulled her shoulders back, forcing her to stand straight.

"What the hell do you think are you doing, Malfoy?" Ginny demanded, going a bit red in the face.

Draco told her to be quiet and carried on with his examination. Perhaps it was the absent tone of his voice that assured her he was up to nothing nefarious, or maybe it was just because he was now leaning forward—face inches from her own—and gently pulling on the foremost strands of her fringe to judge the discrepancy in the length. He pursed his lips and let go of her hair. Then he pulled out his wand, aimed it at her hair, and murmured an incantation. Immediately, the tendrils of red began to reshape with a flow of magic—shortening a bit there, lengthening a bit here—and then it all stopped.

The blond stepped back with a smug smile, rather pleased with his handiwork. Who would have thought the littlest Weasley would clean up so well?

"What did you do to me?" Ginny demanded, reaching into her bag for her mirror.

"You can thank me later," he drawled, and turned around to leave.

He had taken barely three steps when there was a squeal from behind him. Suddenly, a small body collided with his back and freckled arms wrapped themselves tight around his middle.

"Oh, thank you!" Ginny breathed, pressing her face into his robe. "It looks gorgeous! I had no idea you knew how to do hair charms."

Draco disengaged himself from her embrace, meeting her glowing brown eyes with wry amusement. "Weasley, I've spent the past six years living with four other Slytherin boys. It would have been foolish _not_ to learn how to fix a bad haircut."

Ginny grinned and leaned up to place a small kiss on his cheek. "Well, I'm grateful anyway."

"I'm flattered, I'm sure."

She laughed and turned to collect the rest of her belongings.

"Weasley," he said suddenly.

"Yes?" she asked, looking back at him from over her shoulder.

"You should keep your hair short." He tugged at one of the red curls. "It looks ... good on you."

Pink blossomed on her cheeks, and she shyly dropped her gaze. Draco smirked. Perhaps this helping people business wasn't so bad, after all. At the very least, there was something to be said for cheering up a sobbing female with red hair and freckles. Especially when she blushed so delightfully.

Yes, Draco thought as he watched the redhead pick up her bag and leave. He could get used to Ginny Weasley.


	35. Gossip

This was written for chromeknickers' challenge at The DG Forum. The prompt was "Gossip" and the story had to be at least 300 words.

* * *

**Gossip**

Draco Malfoy loved to gossip. Some would argue that it wasn't a particularly masculine trait, but then he didn't much care for those people; he was a Malfoy and was beyond the petty judgements of the common folk. Unfortunately, said common folk didn't always understand that, though he loved to discover all of their juicy secrets—if only to use the information for such pleasant pastimes as blackmailing and the delightful art of humiliation—he did not enjoy it when he became the subject of such gossip.

So it was that when Draco discovered there were rumours going around that he had been snogging the Weasley girl behind the Quidditch changing rooms, he was not at all impressed. For one thing, it wasn't true. For another, he was highly offended that people would even think that he would want to put his mouth near that freckled thing.

Well, being a proactive boy, Draco wasted no time in hunting down the youngest Weasley to find out how the rumour had started. It was by chance that he found her in the Quidditch pitch, just coming out from the broom shed. Naturally, he didn't pause for a moment to admire the way her rather tight tracksuit pants and T-shirt hugged her feminine curves, because that would suggest he actually found the Weasley girl attractive, and that was plain silly.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco blinked and shifted his gaze from her chest to her face. She stared back at him with one eyebrow raised, as if she knew damn well where he had been looking. In response, Draco straightened his back and plastered his favourite 'You Are Beneath Me, Plebeian' expression on his face. Because he hadn't been ogling, damn it; he'd just noticed the soup stain on her T-shirt and spent those few seconds silently mocking her for not being able to afford a new one. Not ogling!

"Have you heard the rumours?" he demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

"I hear a lot of rumours, Malfoy," she said bluntly. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that."

"Fine. I want to know why it is that everyone seems to think you and I were kissing behind the changing rooms on Friday."

"Oh, that." She shrugged. "I don't know. I can't say I really care either."

He eyed her suspiciously. "How can you not care? I realise having the school think you've been kissing me is an upgrade from the usual idiots you are paired with, but—"

"I don't care because it's not true," Weasley interrupted, "and anyone with a brain would recognise that." She laughed—loudly and rather mockingly. "Merlin, why would I ever want to kiss you?"

Draco stared at her slack-jawed for a moment. Then he realised what he was doing and promptly closed his mouth, as such an undignified expression was not befitting a Malfoy.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't want to kiss you either," he snapped.

And then inwardly cursed. What kind of retort was that? He was as bad as her brother floundering after the Quaffle. It was just embarrassing.

Weasley seemed to agree, as her mouth twitched into a smile that seemed to figuratively pat him on the shoulder and say, "there, there; maybe next time." Draco knew that he had to redeem himself, and he opened his mouth to make another—and much more cutting retort—when she got there before him.

"So, are we done?" she asked in a voice edged with impatience. "As much as I am enjoying this conversation, I do actually have places to be."

A frown creased Draco's brow. "You've got quite a mouth on you, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, were you expecting me to be just another pretty face?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Weasley. Only a generous person would call you pretty—and he'd probably have to be blind as well."

Her eyes gleamed with amusement. "Right. That must be why you can't stop looking at me."

"I—you—" He shut his mouth before he could blunder into making another idiotic statement; then he re-plastered his 'You Are Beneath Me, Plebeian' expression on his face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Weasley tugged her hair out from its topknot and he watched as the curls slipped free like waves of fire, framing her features in a riot of red. It was a moment before he realised he was staring again—and that she had noticed.

"You were saying," she taunted, looking far too smug.

Draco made a scornful noise in the back of his throat. "Please, Weasley. With hair as bright as yours, it's a bit hard not to stare. You're like a human stop sign."

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," she said with a careless wave of her hand. "I just wonder if you have considered whether it was you who caused that rumour to start."

He frowned as he watched her walk away. "What's the supposed to mean?" he called to her retreating back.

Weasley paused and turned back to face him. "You're a smart boy. I'm sure you will figure it out."

Draco muttered a few unflattering things about the redhead under his breath and then froze. Wait a minute. Was that uppity little bint actually suggesting that he _liked_ her, and that it was his staring—er, observing of her poor-stamped attire and ugly red hair—that had made people think he'd been snogging her behind the changing rooms?

He laughed softly to himself. "As if."

Because it naturally meant nothing that he had been noticing her more of late. Just like it meant nothing that he had then been unable to get the redhead out of his head for the rest of the day. He was a Malfoy and had better taste than to start liking a girl who wore soup-stained T-shirts and had the effrontery to talk back to him as if she were his equal. It was just ridiculous, and he was never, ever going to make that rumour real.

Now if only he could stop thinking about her lips …


	36. Martyr for the Stars

This was written for Round One of **_The DG Forum's_** 'Battle of the Drabbles' challenge. The prompt is listed at the end.

* * *

**Martyr for the Stars**

She cannot move. There is blood dripping down her wrists, staining the metal digging into her flesh a deep crimson. The cloth wrapped around her eyes is itchy and damp, and as she licks her cracked lips she can taste the salt of her tears on her tongue—the only liquid she has had in what feels like days.

Hands grip her shoulders—bruising, unforgiving hands that make her feel like her collarbone is going to snap. Instinct makes her struggle, but her legs and arms are bound too tightly to the chair. She is helpless.

"Where is he?" a voice growls. "Where is the Lux Stellarum?"

She spits in the direction of the voice, defiant to the bitter end. Something hard collides with her cheek a second later, making her head snap back from the impact and her ears ring with such intensity that she is momentarily deafened. A metallic tang fills her mouth and she vaguely realises that she must have bitten her tongue. The pain does not even register; it's becoming so difficult to focus now, and the darkness is just so thick. She knows that she will not last much longer.

More hands touch her face, forcing her head up. The man's breath is hot on her cheek as he leans over her. "Your silence cannot save him," he murmurs in a twistingly soothing voice. "I know you've got the information we need tucked away in that little mind of yours, and I will have it whether you want to cooperate or not."

Something hard digs into her temple—a wand. She squeezes her eyes shut behind the blindfold, heart pounding in sickening flutters. Any minute now they're going to use Legilimency on her. They'll delve into her mind like termites, searching and searching, but they won't find him. He is the star shining at the centre of her world, and she will never give him up. She will never let them hurt him.

After all, he taught her well.

"_Your mind will always be your ultimate weapon, Ginevra. Remember that."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_All of our knowledge and memories are locked inside our heads, but there are layers and, within those layers, you can use Occlumency to create false paths and walls to stop people from extracting your secrets. You can make them wander for hours through the web of your thoughts and they'll still never reach the truth."_

"_So it's like a maze."_

_He nods. "And you have to make sure they get lost, because once they reach the centre, it's game over for all of us." _

"_But what if I can't do it? Draco, I—" _

"_Shh." He places a finger on her lips, silencing her doubts. "I know you're strong. You can do this." _

_She stares into his eyes, so beautiful in their unique shade of grey. Whispers of unspoken words fill the space between them, and it's as if something just falls into place. Her breath catches as he brushes his finger caressingly against her bottom lip, and then he is kissing her—kissing her so desperately that she knows he is just as afraid as she is of what the future might bring. The shadow has cast its hand over them all, and they both know they're running out of time. That _he_ is running out of time._

_But she will not fail him. She will never fail him._

Ginny tightens her grip on the chair, conscious of the fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. The incantation has already been spoken, allowing the wizards to penetrate her skull and search her memories. She cannot move and the blood is still dripping down her wrists, but then that doesn't matter. Her mind is her weapon, and she will draw them all into her web. She will let them wander through her thoughts, whispering lies and false images for them to follow until they can no longer perceive the truth. Until they are so lost in her maze of illusions that they will be forced to flee or risk losing themselves completely.

Until there is no breath left in her lungs and all they are left with is an empty shell.

This is what she has been trained to do, and she will protect her secrets to the end. She will protect _him_. Because he is the star shining at the centre of her world—of all their world—and she cannot let him die.

She will not let him die.

* * *

**Round One: **

**Prompt:** Write a DG piece inspired by the selected picture, which was of a maze.

**Word count:** 750 words.


	37. Clockwork

This was written for Round Two of **_The DG Forum's_** 'Battle of the Drabbles' challenge. The prompt is listed at the end.

* * *

**Clockwork**

The hall was stuffy and smelt like expensive perfume mixed with sweat. There were too many people, too many fake smiles and lies disguised behind charming words. Wizards and witches laughed as they clinked their glasses together, like clockwork figurines just going through the motions. A job well done, they said. A perfect beginning to a perfect alliance.

Bile rose in her throat, acidic and choking, and for a moment Ginny felt like screaming. She felt like throwing her own celebratory cup at these people and watching the glass shatter into a hundred pieces; see the champagne spread on the floor and turn red to stain their perfect world with the blood they tried so hard to disguise. If she were to open the vaults in their banks, she knew their gold would be drenched in crimson; everything these people owned had been paid with blood. Blood and lies.

But she also knew it wouldn't make a difference. She could scream and smash things all she liked, and they would just turn their backs on the chaos as they always did. It was so much easier for them to pretend. So much easier to keep smiling. So much easier to lie.

"Pathetic, aren't they?"

She froze and turned to see Draco Malfoy leaning against the wall, watching her through steely eyes. She had never admired his looks; he was all sharp points and angles, to the point where his beauty seemed almost painful to look upon, like an ice sculpture that could cut at the slightest touch. Tonight, however, she couldn't help but notice the way his hair seemed to glow with the colours of moonlight when set against the stark black of his robes, or how his eyes seemed so much greyer than usual. He had never looked more striking, and she was annoyed to find that, for a moment, she couldn't bring herself to look away.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she muttered.

"Perhaps I simply wanted to enjoy the pleasure of your company." He stuffed his free hand into his pocket. "Or perhaps I am trying to escape the sycophantic fools who keep following me around, so I decided to take up residence beside a particularly murderous-looking redhead. Take your pick."

A reluctant smile curved her lips. "I would have thought you'd be enjoying this. It's what you're used to, isn't it?"

"I was bred into this society, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it." A hard glint entered his eyes. "After a while, you start to realise that everyone is just repeating the same motions; the only thing that changes are the ones sitting on the pedestal. They'll rule us like kings and queens, but once their use and charm is all dried up, the same people who fawned over them will then toss them aside like just another piece of junk."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

He gave a wry laugh. "Oh, I've sat on the pedestal, and been pushed off it. Lucky for me, I'm handsome and rich, so even if my reputation is as sullied as dirty water, people still come crawling back to me in the end."

Ginny took a sip of her champagne. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. You're not that handsome."

"I'm wounded," he responded, placing his hand over his heart.

"I might believe that if I thought you actually cared about my opinion, but I don't think you do." She looked him up and down, and a frown crossed her lips. "In fact, I wonder if you care about anything."

"Do you?" he asked, turning the question back on her.

She held his gaze, transfixed by the intense grey of his irises. A blink, a slight shake of her head, and then she was looking back at the other guests. "I care about my family," she said quietly. "I care about living in a society where justice is served fairly, and where mercy doesn't go hand-in-hand with an exchange of gold." Her hand trembled, and she tightened her grip on her glass. "I _hate_ the fact that the Minister of Magic has sold us all to the devil with this new alliance."

A faint smile touched his lips. "Still the idealist, I see."

"Maybe." She placed her glass down on the tray as one of the waitresses passed them. "Or maybe I'm just tired of acting like another piece of clockwork, too stuck in my own routine to see that the world doesn't have to be this way. Aren't you?"

"I'm afraid I've never been much of a fighter for justice," he responded, also placing his glass on the tray.

"Only for yourself, right?"

He laughed. "What can I say? We can't all be unselfish do-gooders like Potter. It's not my problem the world can't sort itself out."

Ginny's eyes flashed. "So you're content to just let things continue this way? You're willing to ignore the indecency and injustice around you because it's _not your problem_?"

Draco tilted her chin towards him with his finger. "You know, Weasley, you should get angry more often. It suits you."

Her cheeks burned and she smacked his hand away. "What has that got to do with anything?"

His mouth twitched. "Er, that was my not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject."

"Why?" she taunted. "Afraid you might not like what I have to say?"

"Quite frankly, politics bore me."

She folded her arms. "I should have known you'd say something like that."

"You should have," he agreed.

Ginny continued to glower. His smile widened a fraction.

"Come, Weasley. Let's call a truce. This is a celebration, isn't it?" He held out his hand. "Dance with me."

"Why?"

He laughed. "Why not?"

Ginny had no answer for that, so she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor to join the rest of the couples. Except she was not just another clockwork figurine, and as she looked into Draco's eyes, she thought that he might not be either.

* * *

**Influence: ** Opinions Won't Keep You Warm At Night – Kisschasy.

**Must include: **A political alliance.

**Word count:** 1000 words.


	38. Ginny's Bad Day

This was written for Round Three of **_The DG Forum's_ **'Battle of the Drabbles' challenge. The prompt is listed at the end.

* * *

**Ginny's Bad Day**

"Stay down!"

Ginny removed her hand and was frustrated to see the same strand of red flick up like an insect antenna. She groaned and closed her eyes, holding back tears of frustration. Today was the big job interview, but she had somehow managed to sleep through her alarm, and then she'd stubbed her toe while walking to the shower, and then she hadn't been able to find her wand to dry her hair. Of course, when she finally did, her hair just wouldn't cooperate with her.

"I've tried putting you up, and I've tried putting you down," Ginny raged, glaring at the offending tresses of red. "Why won't you just look nice?"

Her hair had no response, though wispy strands were beginning to crackle free, making it look as if she had a frizzy halo. Ginny's shoulders slumped in defeat, but then she caught sight of the clock and a squeak of horror escaped her throat.

"I'm going to be late!"

Snatching up her bag from the bed, she slipped her feet into her heels and then Disapparated. Materialising at the designated point in the Ministry of Magic, she pushed past the other people and made a mad dash for the lifts. If she hurried, she still might be able to make it to the interview before they wrote her off completely. It was therefore a relief when she made it into the glass lift before the doors slid shut.

"Oh, thank Merlin," she breathed, clicking the button for the floor she wanted and then letting her head rest against the wall as she tried to catch her breath.

"Rough morning?"

"Terrible," she responded.

Then she actually looked at the other occupant in the lift and her expression soured. Only one person had such silvery blond hair, such striking grey eyes, and such handsome, angular features. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Brilliant," she muttered. "Could this day get any worse?"

Suddenly, there was a loud, metallic groan and the lift came to an abrupt halt. Ginny and Draco exchanged a surprised glance and then she reached over and clicked the button to get the lift moving again. Nothing happened.

"No!" Ginny exclaimed, pushing the button again and again. "No, no, no, no!"

"Move aside," Draco ordered. He pressed the switch that would allow him to contact the emergency repairmen. Again, nothing happened.

Ginny groaned and covered her face with her hands. "This is not happening! This _can't _be happening!"

"Stop being so melodramatic," Draco retorted. "This is a glass lift. People are bound to notice we're stuck eventually."

"You don't understand!" Ginny cried, staring up at him through overly bright eyes. "I'm supposed to be having a job interview right now; instead, I'm stuck in this lift with you." Her bottom lip trembled. "If only my hair had just cooperated with me this morning."

"What has your hair got to do with this?" Draco asked, justifiably nonplussed.

Ginny wasn't listening. She slid to the floor and buried her face in her knees, wondering how so much could have gone so wrong. This job had been everything to her; it was her chance to prove to her family that she could stand on her own two feet. But now she could see all of those dreams of independence and success being sucked away down the drain. No one would think twice about a person who couldn't even make it to an interview on time and whose hair looked like a frizzy red halo with antennas.

Draco eyed the redhead suspiciously. "Are you crying?"

"No."

But her voice was decidedly wobbly, and the snotty sniff that followed was just further evidence that she was far from happy. Draco sighed and sat down next to her on the ground.

"Here," he said.

Ginny looked up to see a handkerchief being dangled in front of her face. Her gaze shifted to the blond, but he wasn't looking at her and was instead staring straight ahead, just waiting for her to accept his offering.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"Least I can do," he muttered, still not looking at her.

Ginny was too busy blowing her nose to hear him, but that didn't matter. His unexpected gesture of kindness had soothed a lot of her distress, to the point where she was able to bestow him with a tremulous smile once she had wiped away her tears.

"Um, what should I do with—"

"Keep it," he said. "I can't say I relish the thought of carrying something with your snot all over it in my pocket." A faint smirk touched his lips. "Besides, it looks like you need it more than I do."

A light dusting of pink spread over her cheeks. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that."

"It's fine." He leaned back against the wall. "I'd rather that than listen to you throw a pity party for yourself the whole time we're stuck in this lift together."

She elbowed him in the arm. "Git."

His mouth twitched and, for a moment, the two of them sat next to each other in comfortable silence. Ginny soon became aware of a cool, masculine scent teasing her senses, and she realised it had to be coming from the blond. She glanced up at him, taking the time to examine his profile. He turned to meet her gaze, and as she stared into his grey eyes, it occurred to her that he really was an incredibly attractive man. The realisation brought another blossom of pink to her cheeks.

"What?" Draco said, raising his eyebrow.

Ginny ducked her head. "Nothing."

She stared at the handkerchief in her hands, and a smile touched her lips as she saw the tiny D and M stitched onto the corner. By the time the lift started moving again, she no longer cared that she had missed her interview or that her hair looked like a frizzy halo with red antennas. After all, not everything had gone wrong for her that morning.

* * *

**Prompt: **A bad hair day

**Genre: **Comedy

**Word count:** 1000 words.


	39. Fallen Snow Angels

This was written for Round Four of **_The DG Forum's_ **'Battle of the Drabbles' challenge. The prompt is listed at the end.

* * *

**Fallen Snow Angels**

Sprinkles of white fell from the sky like falling stars, blanketing the earth in a thick blanket of snow. Ginny smiled and closed her eyes, allowing the snowflakes to caress her cheeks in icy kisses. Someone sneezed, distracting her moment of indulgence. She turned to see Draco Malfoy, their newest house guest at Grimmauld Place, stomping his way through the garden and scowling something awful as he hugged his jacket close to his body. Someone clearly was not enjoying nature's gift to the world.

A sly grin curved her lips, and she picked up a handful of snow and threw it at his head. It smacked against his cheek, breaking apart in an explosion of white and sending slithery trails down his face and neck. Draco let out a string of curses that would have put even Ron to shame for their creativity, swearing bloody murder for whoever had dared to attack him. Ginny couldn't help herself; she laughed and laughed, leaning against her knees and barely keeping herself upright as she shook with amusement.

His eyes narrowed as he spotted her. "What the hell was that for, Weasley?"

Ginny wiped a tear away from her eye. "You just looked so grumpy."

"So you thought you'd throw a snowball at me?"

She shrugged. "I know I enjoyed it."

Draco's cheeks, already flushed from the cold, went a darker shade of pink. She wasn't certain if it was because of anger or humiliation, but a second later she was spitting out bits of snow after having a giant ball of the stuff collide with her face. Draco must have used wandless magic to hit her, the git.

"Oh, you're in for it now!" Ginny cried, grabbing two fistfuls of snow.

What followed next was a battle of epic proportions, where childish insults were slung just as much as snow, until one particular barb sent Ginny charging after the blond and tackling him around his middle. They hit the ground with an "oomph" and then rolled and scrabbled with each other—or, rather, Draco called her a demonic, crazy wench and told her to get off him, while Ginny cackled with glee and tried to stuff snow down his shirt. Then the blond decided he'd had enough and flipped her over onto her back, pinning her down to the ground.

Ginny breathed in a sharp breath. They were very close now, and his body was warm and heavy against hers, despite the fact that their clothes were both damp. Her heart thudded in a funny beat against her chest as she stared into his eyes (had they always been that grey?), and she could feel little drops of water falling onto her face from the tips of his silvery blond hair. He flicked the strands off his face with an impatient gesture and glared down at her, still keeping her pinned to the ground.

"No more games, Weasley," he growled. "I mean it."

She held her hands up, showing that they were empty. "Alright, alright. I surrender."

He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, but then he got off her and held out his hand to help her up. She accepted the offer and was pulled back to her feet, only to laugh as she stared at the space where they had fallen.

"Look, Draco," she said, pointing at the spot. "We made a snow angel."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't even need to speak; the thought "why me?" was imprinted all over his expression. Ginny did not heed this reaction and tilted her head to the side as she examined their 'angel'.

"Its wings are a bit funny looking, though," she observed. "Perhaps we should call it a fallen snow angel instead."

"I'm going back inside," was all he responded, already walking away.

"Wait!"

Ginny ran to catch up with him, smiling as she met his gaze. "You forgot this."

"Wha—" he started to say, until he got another face full of snow.

Ginny laughed and ran back towards the house, even as Draco chased her and swore oaths of revenge. There were many more fallen snow angels created that day.

* * *

**Prompt: **'We are the fallen angels'.

**Word count:** 500-700 words.


	40. Divided

This was written for Round Five of **_The DG Forum's_** 'Battle of the Drabbles' challenge. The prompt is listed at the end.

* * *

**Divided**

They are like two sides of the same coin—so close, yet never able to touch. She can never be more than the inverted image of his soul. Her tears fall in fiery droplets, blanketing the earth in the heat of her rage; his are the ice that freezes and stills, but even then they cannot cry together. They are always divided, always the opposite. When she whispers, he is silent. When he reaches for her, she turns her back.

It is nature. It is balance.

It is all she will ever know, and she hates it.

* * *

**Inspiration: **"The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops."

**Word count:** 100 words.


	41. A Jolly Interlude

This was written as a gift for SunnyStorms for the 2012 DG Holiday Gift-Fic Exchange. The prompt was 'Poison, Lipstick, Wish'. I'm a bit rusty at writing DG, but I hope you like it all the same, Sunny. ^_^

* * *

**A Jolly Interlude**

* * *

_She tries to rope him into doing heinous, un-Malfoyish things._

* * *

He looks at the star like it is poison. Then he looks at the redhead like _she_ is poison.

"No," he says flatly.

"But, Malfoy—"

"No. I am not helping you decorate that tree."

She pouts. "But I can't make a Christmas wish unless we put the star on top, and you know I can't use magic; I'm underage."

"Then I guess you won't get your wish."

She folds her arms under breasts, giving him the evil eye. "You are so—so—"

"I know," he says, turning her around by her shoulders and giving her a slight push towards the door. "I'm horrible and evil and sometimes you just can't stand the sight of me. Believe me, the thought warms the cockles of my heart. Now go do whatever it is that plebeians like you do and leave me in peace."

"Ugh!" she cries, throwing her hands up in the air. "Why did I have to get stuck in this safe house with you? Even being kidnapped by Death Eaters has to be better than this!"

He lets out an inelegant snort. "Well, the front door is that way. Go right ahead."

Weasley has no response to this and instead gives him one last glare before flouncing off towards her room. Draco sighs in relief and settles back on his favourite armchair. That got rid of the bint. Now, hopefully, he won't have to hear anymore Christmas nonsense from her.

* * *

_She is always getting herself into trouble._

* * *

"I can't believe you broke your ankle," Draco mutters, setting the redhead down on the couch and taking her foot in his hands.

She hisses in pain at his touch, biting back a yelp. "Well, if you had just helped me with the star when I asked, I wouldn't have had to use that wobbly stool to try and reach the top of the tree. But no, you just had to be a git, and who had to suffer for your gitishness? Me!"

Draco rolls his eyes. "It's not my fault you're clumsy and short."

"Clumsy and short? Why you—"

"Hold still!" he orders, cutting her rant short and bringing out his wand.

Weasley glowers at him, but she manages to curb her temper long enough to let him use his magic to mend the broken bone. She slips her foot out of his grasp once he is done and stands up, brushing the pine needles off her robes.

Draco raises an eyebrow. "What, no thank you?"

She lifts her chin. "I only say thank you to people who actually deserve my gratitude. You don't—especially since I know you only healed my foot so you wouldn't have to cook dinner tonight."

He shrugs. "Guilty."

Weasley makes an exasperated noise and stomps out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Draco doesn't seem too bothered that he has managed to make her storm off like a snorting dragon again (it happens a lot). Instead, his gaze drifts to the Christmas tree (Salazar knows how she got the owl to deliver the thing), and he stares at the yellow star glinting on top. He wonders if she managed to make her wish; the spiteful, Christmas-loathing side of him wonders why he cares if she hadn't.

"It's not like it would have come true or anything," he mutters, folding his arms.

Then he realises that he is talking to himself, and he scowls. Weasley's craziness is clearly rubbing off on him.

* * *

_She has no class._

* * *

"Are you wearing lipstick?"

Her cheeks flush with pink. "No."

The corners of his mouth twitch. "You are, aren't you?"

She makes a huffy sound and takes a sip of her drink, trying to look lofty and uncaring. "Well, so what if I am? It's Christmas dinner, isn't it? I wanted to dress up for the occasion."

"You think that's dressing up?" Draco shakes his head in mock dismay. "Weasley, Weasley. Putting on some lipstick and a nicer jumper than that holey thing you normally wear is not dressing up."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Malfoy!" she snaps, tightening her grip on her glass and glaring daggers at him.

Draco holds his hands up in an appeasing gesture. "Just making an observation."

"No, you were being a git. You're always being a git. In fact, you might as well just be renamed the King of Gits."

"Nice to see you've finally recognised that I am the equivalent of royalty."

She makes an odd sound, almost like a cat hacking up a fur ball, and then starts coughing and thumping her hand against her chest. No doubt she has choked on her drink. Draco simply raises an eyebrow.

"Problem, Weasley?"

Her eyes narrow. "The only one with a problem here is you. Now shut up and eat your damn turkey."

He laughs lightly. "No wonder you don't know how to dress for special occasions. You Weasleys have no class at all."

"You—I—" she flounders a bit more and then settles on her favourite word for him. "Git!"

Draco's lips curve into a smirk. "Don't you mean King of Gits?"

"Gah!"

* * *

_She is completely adorable._

* * *

"Do you think they'll ever come back for us?" Weasley asks, curled up next to him on the couch.

Draco watches the flames flicker in the hearth. "I don't know, Weasley. It's been a month since we last heard anything."

She sits up and hugs her knees to her chest, peering at him through big brown eyes. "I never thought I'd be spending Christmas with you," she says after a moment.

"We didn't think a lot of things would happen, Weasley, but they still did."

Her gaze lowers. It occurs to him that she is probably upset and missing her family. This is an alarming thought. He doesn't want to deal with a silent, sad-face Weasley. He much prefers the stomping, snorting kind.

"Don't worry," he says offhandedly. "Next year I'm sure you'll be back to having the whole Weasley brood around you, and then you can indulge in your plebeian ways and Christmas wishes all you like."

She tilts her head to the side, observing him like a bird that has just discovered a rather odd looking worm and is not sure if it's edible. "Are you—are you trying to cheer me up? Because I have to say that you're doing a really terrible job of it."

He shrugs and stretches his legs out, resting his feet on the ugly footstool. "Think what you like. It doesn't bother me."

"Of course it doesn't," she says, sounding a little irritated. "Nothing ever seems to bother you. The Great Malfoy is always so calm and unflappable."

"The Great Malfoy," he repeats. "Why, Weasley, I'm flattered you feel that way about me."

Her face flushes with pink. "You know what I meant! Stop trying to twist my words, you—you—"

Draco, who is rather tired of seeing her flounder about like a fish out of water, leans over and presses his lips firmly against hers. She makes a muffled sound of surprise, and he takes infinite pleasure in teasing a response out of her, fingers tangling in her hair as he deepens the kiss. When he pulls back, she is bright red and staring at him through wide brown eyes.

"What was that for?" she demands.

"Mistletoe," he says, pointing up.

She blinks. "Where? I don't see any—"

He kisses her again, and for once she doesn't feel the need to argue with him and prove him wrong. Draco has to admit, he rather likes this method of shutting Weasley up. In fact, he thinks this just might be the best Christmas yet.


	42. Little Things

**Little Things**

It was the little things that did it. The way she slurped her drink with every sip, or that embarrassing habit she had of lowering her face to meet her fork, because she could never use her knife properly and always had to shovel her food into her mouth like some starved prisoner who had never eaten a decent meal in her life. Even the way she spoke sometimes bothered him—all loose vowels and vulgar phrases—but it was even worse when she put on that awful voice when she was trying to be polite or crook her little finger out when drinking tea, because she seemed to think that would make her seem more lady-like. He'd seen the way Daphne and Pansy had exchanged amused glances; he'd wanted to bury his head in shame when he'd overhead them talking about it later.

"I guess it's true what they say," Pansy had observed. "A pig wearing a dress is still a pig, just like a Weasley will always be a Weasley."

He should have defended her, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Instead, he had gone home, bitter and annoyed and wondering how it had come to this. Because Draco had never expected his marriage to end up this way. He had always assumed that one day those frustrating little habits of hers would just go away; that one day he'd look across the table and see a wife who didn't lean her elbows everywhere or wouldn't embarrass him in front of his guests. His mother had told him that it was a mistake to marry a Weasley; he hadn't believed her at the time. Ginny was so beautiful, with her vibrant red hair and laughing brown eyes. She was so full of life and passion; he'd not been able to rest until he had her, because he knew that he loved her and wanted to be with her for the rest of his life.

But now he did have her, and sometimes he couldn't even stand the sight of her or her vibrant red hair. Sometimes, he just wished he could throw away the ring on his finger and all the obligations that came with it.

Sometimes, he was quite certain that he hated Ginny Malfoy.

* * *

Note: So I wrote this drabble ages ago, and I was originally going to expand on it and make it kind of have a resolution (stress on the 'kind of'), but I somehow doubt I'm ever going to return to this, so I just decided to post it in its very angsty, depressing state.

Um, yay?


	43. Why Quidditch Gear Should Be Banned

This was written for a challenge at **_The DG Forum_**. Prompt is listed at the end. I will state now that I had no idea where I was going with this. It's been a long time since I wrote DG, and I was feeling very rusty and basically wrote whatever came to my head. But, hey, at least it's something, right? ^_~

* * *

**Why Quidditch Gear Should Be Banned**

It was a truth universally acknowledged that Draco Malfoy was an arrogant tosspot who deserved to be pecked to death by magically modified penguins. It was also true that said tosspot happened to be extremely handsome, and looked far too good in his Quidditch gear for someone so prejudiced and unlikeable. Not that Ginny noticed. She didn't care for the way the dark green of his robes contrasted with his silvery-blond hair and pale skin. She certainly didn't care to appreciate how his outfit failed to disguise the lean but undeniably masculine form concealed underneath. And those dragon-hide armguards and boots did nothing for her at all. Absolutely nothing.

"He's nothing but a runty, rat-faced cretin," she muttered, scowling at the boy in question.

The blond chose that moment to laugh at something his team mate said, making Ginny's lips twist as if she had just bit into a lemon. Because he did not look charming when he smiled like that, all casual and leaning against his broom as if he were some (rat-faced) model for the Hot-Bods of Quidditch Calendar. Nope. She was not to be swayed. She was a rock of immovability and would not succumb to the powers of Draco Malfoy in his Quidditch gear.

Grey eyes locked with hers, and she was annoyed to feel her cheeks flush with warmth. Brilliant. Now he had caught her staring, and now that thin mouth of his was curling into a smirk, and now—

_Damn it! He's walking right towards me! _

That was just like the conceited prat. Just because she happened to be looking in his direction did not mean that she was extending an invitation for him to come talk to her.

_And he could at least stop strutting like that_, she thought sourly, taking in the way his jade robe rippled around him. _This isn't a catwalk._

The blond stopped in front of her, leaning on his broom as he met her narrowed eyes. "Enjoy the show, Weasley?"

She folded her arms under her breasts, raising her chin. "Please. I'm not one of your fangirls, Malfoy. You can strut around all you like, but I won't be falling at your feet."

A smile glinted in his eyes. "I was talking about the game."

Heat rushed through her cheeks. "That's what I meant!"

Draco merely raised his eyebrow. It was obvious that he did not believe her. It was also obvious that he found her amusing. Damn him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she demanded, scowling as she tapped her foot against the ground. "I have better things to do than stand around chatting to you."

"Do I have to want something?" he asked, mouth twitching. "Maybe I just felt like talking to you."

She let out a derisive snort. "Like I'm really going to believe that. You're a Slytherin; you've got sneaky, scheming bastard written all over you."

He laughed. "See, that's what I like about you, Weasley. You're never afraid to speak your mind."

She shot him a suspicious look. "Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"

"I actually believe I'm trying to give you a compliment."

Ginny opened and closed her mouth wordlessly. Nowhere in her _Why All Malfoys Are Bastards_ handbook did it suggest that Draco Malfoy might one day try to give her a compliment. Clearly, he was up to something. Malfoys did not give Weasleys compliments.

She stared at him for a moment, still keeping her arms firmly crossed. The blond stared back at her innocently—or at least as innocently as his smirky face could reflect. That was when she started laughing, nodding her head as if sharing in on a secret joke.

"Oh, I get it," she said, still sounding amused, "this is all some grand scheme to make me like you, and then you'll turn around and humiliate me in front of all your friends, right?"

Draco blinked. "Uh, no."

"No, no, don't try to deny it." Her expression hardened, and she poked him in the chest. "I know your tricks, Malfoy, and I'll tell you now that you're wasting your time."

His brow furrowed. "Listen—"

"No, _you_ listen!" she interrupted, poking him in the chest again. "I don't care how good you look in your Quidditch gear; this is one Weasley you won't ensnare!"

A faint smile curved his lips. Ginny blushed and clamped her hands over her mouth, realising what she had just said. Damn it. She really needed to stop blurting things out like that.

"I—I mean," she stammered, lowering her hands and still flushing a brilliant red.

"Oh, I think I got what you meant," he drawled. "Very enlightening it was, too."

She gritted her teeth. "Well, so what? You might be pretty to look at, but your personality is still ugly as hell. Trust me, Malfoy; it's nothing to be proud of."

He placed a hand over his heart. "You wound me."

She let out another derisive snort. "Please, you don't have a heart to wound."

"Now that's not true, and if you'd just lower those bristling hackles of yours for a moment, you'd see that I'm actually not playing any games. I just want to talk."

She folded her arms again and looked the other way. "Whatever."

A hint of irritation glinted in his eyes. "You're really not making this easy for me."

"Good."

This time he did make a frustrated sound. "Damn it, Weasley, here I am trying to ask you to go to Hogsmeade with me, and you're acting like a bloody hippogriff on a rampage!"

Once again, Ginny found herself bereft of words. "You what?"

"Like you and want to go on a date with you, yes. Is that really so hard to believe?"

"I, er, well—" she blushed and bit her lip.

Surely there was a catch somewhere. Surely this was all some elaborate plan to humiliate her. Draco Malfoy was an arrogant tosspot—albeit a gorgeous one—and she had sworn that she would never, ever let herself be caught by his wily, Slytherin ways. But right now he did not look smirky and smug. Right now he just looked a little exasperated because, so far, she hadn't believed a thing he'd said, and that in itself made her wonder if he was being sincere. Maybe he did like her. Maybe this wasn't a trick. Her stomach fluttered in a whole circus act of swoops and soars at the thought.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Yes."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Yes what?"

"Yes, I'll go to Hogsmeade with you."

He opened his mouth to respond, but just then one of his team mates called out to him, shouting for him to get back over there and stop flirting before they kicked him off the team. Draco muttered something unflattering about the Chaser under his breath and then turned back to Ginny.

"I've got to get back for the team meeting, but we'll talk later, yeah? Maybe before dinner?"

"Um, sure."

He smiled—really smiled—and then he was heading back to his team mates, jade robe rippling around him. Ginny allowed herself a moment to indulge in the image—until she realised what she was doing, as well as everything else that had just happened.

"What was I thinking?" she groaned, smacking her palm against her forehead. "I can't believe I just agreed to go on a date with Draco Malfoy."

She scowled at the boy in question. It was the Quidditch gear. None of this would have happened if he was just wearing his ordinary school robes. But no, he had to go and be all charming to her when he was looking the epitome of sex on legs, and now she had gone and betrayed herself and everything she stood for as a Gryffindor and Weasley. Her ancestors were probably all rolling in their graves right now.

His gaze flickered her way just before he headed into the Slytherin changing rooms, and for a moment their eyes met. She couldn't stop the tiny smile that tugged at her lips. Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad going on a date with him. He might be an arrogant tosspot who deserved to be pecked to death by magically modified penguins, but he was an awfully handsome one. Perhaps she was right to give him a chance.

Ginny's smile widened a fraction. Yes, she thought she could get used to having Draco Malfoy around. Especially when he was wearing his Quidditch gear.

* * *

**Prompt:** Draco in Quidditch gear

**Bonus points:** set in Hogwarts era

**Minimum:** 300 words (no max)

**Deadline:** April 15


	44. The Harpy, the Wasp, and the Eye-Pot

I know it's been a while since I wrote for DG, so here's a little something I rattled off while waiting for my washing to finish. Enjoy!

* * *

**The Harpy, the Wasp, and the Eye-Pot**

Music pumped in her ears, blending with the quickening drum of her heart and the steady pounding of her feet. One step after the other, faster and faster. She grinned and did a little spin, tossing her head from side to side as she started singing along to the chorus of 'Smooth Sailing', if rather out of tune. She'd really have to thank Hermione for getting her that Muggle eye-pot thingy for her birthday, or whatever it was called. So much easier to carry while running than lugging a radio that played the Wizarding Wireless around, and she had taken quite a fancy to Muggle music. Well, some of it, anyway.

Something tapped her on the shoulder. Ginny's heart tried to leap into her throat and she jumped a foot into the air, tugging off her headphones as she did so and giving a startled glance to her left. A handsome blond stared back at her—looking very out of place in his charcoal-grey suit—with one eyebrow raised and a faint smile lurking at his mouth. Instantly, her alarm turned to irritation.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" she said by way of greeting, raising her nose in the air and reaching to put her headphones back on.

"Now, that's not nice," Draco responded, keeping up with her pace with ridiculous ease. Damn those long legs of his.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said with forced sweetness. "Sod off _please_, Malfoy."

With that, she stuck her headphones back in and raised the volume to a deafening level so she couldn't hear his retort. It was truly a delight to watch the way his mouth moved and not have to listen to that annoying, drawling voice of his. Git was like a wasp that just kept buzzing and buzzing and never went away. Until she crushed him with her shoe, of course. Or drowned him in insect-killing chemicals. It was a shame the wizarding population refused to subscribe to her belief that Draco Malfoy should be relabelled under the category of 'pest'; no one seemed to understand she would be doing the world a favour if she murdered him.

Draco's mouth pulled into a frown and he tugged off her headphones with one casual swipe. "I'd appreciate it if you actually listened to me when I talk to you, Ginevra."

"And I'd appreciate it if a house fell from the sky right now and crushed you into a pancake a lá Wicked Witch of the East, but unfortunately we don't always get what we want, so I'm afraid you're just going to have to deal with me ignoring you." She forced a bright smile and then turned her face the other way, her expression automatically falling into a scowl. "Git."

Draco gave a mock sigh. "So cruel." A beat." So uncouth." He slowed to a halt and smoothed the stray strands of blond away from his eyes. "But enough pleasantries. You know why I'm here, Ginevra. I think you'd agree it's about time we have that talk you've been avoiding."

"_No_," she said, stopping in her tracks and spinning around to poke him in the chest. "The only reason you're here is because you're a creepy-arsed stalker who doesn't understand that sod off means sod the hell off and stop following me!"

"Well, maybe if you stopped having security remove me from the building every time I try to see you at your office, I wouldn't have to—"

"You wouldn't have to what?" she demanded, getting all up in his space and planting her hands on her hips. "Stalk me to my house and find me when I go jogging like some desperate creep?"

Draco laughed softly. "Don't flatter yourself, Ginevra." He took in her attire with critical eyes, letting his gaze travel from her face to her shoes and then back again. "Red-faced gingers wearing baggy exercise shorts and what I can only presume is a stained relic left from one of your victims really aren't my thing."

Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red, which had nothing to do with the jogging and everything to do with her irritation for the blond in front of her. "Victims?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he corrected amiably. "I meant boyfriends. It's just you have that flesh-eating harpy thing going on so well that the former seems to fit better."

She balled her hands into fists and her breasts rose and fell in one quick motion. "Give me one reason, Malfoy," she gritted out between clenched teeth. "One reason."

"Yes, darling, I'm sure you'd love to behead me and see my entrails decorated over London, but as you said, we don't always get what we want." He met her eyes squarely, all trace of amusement gone. "Now are you going to let me speak so we can both get on our way, or do I have to continue this tedious game of cat and mouse with you?"

Ginny shifted on her feet, thrown off her stride. Then she scowled mulishly and folded her arms under her breasts. "Fine, but only because you did help Luna get that research job she was wanting in Transylvania. Though how she became friends with an arrogant, chauvinistic prat like you, I will never know."

"Probably the same way she became friends with a Boggart of a woman like you," he said dryly. "She just loves us for our gooey centres."

Ginny couldn't help the way her lips twitched, but her scowl was back a second later. "Alright, Malfoy. Let me have it. What do you want from me that is so important you've taken to interrupting my morning run? And don't you dare pull any tricks, or else this time it won't be security I'll be calling; it'll be the Aurors."

"I'm wounded, Ginevra. Do you really distrust me that much?"

"Yes," she said bluntly.

Draco shrugged, not in the least put out. "Fair enough. Then I'll just have to prove my sincerity to you as we spend more time together, and I do hope you'll be cooperative. You see, Ginevra, it has been brought to my attention that my career in politics is currently at a standstill because I don't have the support from, shall we say, less _prejudiced_ people."

"Get to the point, Malfoy," she snapped, tapping her foot.

"I propose an alliance. I'll give you the funding you need, and you give me your unequivocal support in the upcoming elections."

She gave a derisive snort. "That's why you've been stalking me all these weeks?"

He didn't even blink. "Yes."

Ginny unfolded her arms. "Sod off, Malfoy."

With that, she brought out her wand and Disapparated with a loud crack. It was only after she had got out of the shower and went to put her running clothes in the wash that she realised her eye-pot thingy was missing. And where it was now likely to be found.

"Damn that sneaky git," she muttered.

It was just like him to steal something from her to ensure she had no choice but to speak to him again. Well, he would get his second meeting, and she would make sure he regretted it as well. After all, there was only one way to deal with pests, even of the human kind. Ginny would make a Malfoy pancake of him yet.

* * *

The song mentioned is 'Smooth Sailing' by Queens of the Stone Age, which I just happened to be listening to while writing this. Much as I'd love to say I'm going to expand on this one-shot, it probably isn't going to happen anytime soon, if at all. That said, I have not given up on my unfinished DG projects, so keep an eye out. You never know, I just might surprise you with an update. ^_~


	45. Weasley and the Three Males

Apparently, there is only one thing to do when you can't sleep, are craving chocolate, and are cursing the fact you were born female. WRITE DG FANFIC!

Gotta love my logic. In any case, I wrote this one-shot at 4am in the morning, so if it makes no sense I apologise. I won't be continuing it, but hopefully you'll find it satisfying enough. And if someone has finally created that device that allows you to transport food through the internet, just picture me like a lolcat being all 'I haz chocolate?' and take pity on this poor, deprived soul.

* * *

**Weasley and the Three Males**

Draco entered the flat to the sounds of guttural cries and triumphant laughter. He rolled his eyes as he dumped his bag on the floor and began loosening his tie, making his way towards the communal living area. "Really, Blaise," he drawled, "can't you indulge in your bloodthirsty little hobby somewhere else? I have a headache and am not in the mood to listen to you kill people."

Blaise barely glanced up from his 'hobby', as Draco called it. "Can't talk right now. On the last level." He mashed a button on the controller in his hand and glared at the screen in front of him. "Die, you stupid thing! _No_, don't get stuck on the wall! ATTACK! ATTACK!"

The blond rolled his eyes again. "I'll show you an attack in a minute."

A low chuckle had him glancing to the left where a slender man with light-brown hair was sprawled on the couch, flicking through a magazine. Draco pursed his lips.

"This is all your fault, Theo," he observed. "I was against letting Weasley live with us from the start, but no, you just had to go and feel sorry for her. Now look what has happened. Blaise has been corrupted by these infernal Muggle devices and our flat smells like the whole citrus section had an orgy with some flowers."

The brunet picked up the mug resting on the table next to him and took a sip of his coffee.

"Are you even listening to me, Theo?"

"Oh, I'm listening," Theo said in a bored voice. "Sadly, no matter how much I try to ignore your drivel, my ears can't help but listen. It's one of the true tragedies of life."

Draco let out a snort. "Prick."

"Love you too, Sweetie," Theo responded, still not raising his eyes from the magazine.

Draco just shook his head and then walked towards the kitchen area, throwing open the fridge and scanning the food inside. He sighed and slammed the door shut, then moved onto the cupboards. "Maybe I should have stopped at the supermarket before coming home," he muttered, staring at the empty shelf that had been allotted for him.

As if to corroborate this statement, his stomach gave a loud grumble—the kind that refused to be ignored and demanded he put some sustenance in his belly straight away. That was when Draco spotted the block of chocolate sitting open on the bench. Well, what was left of it. There were only two rows remaining, and in his tired, half-starved state he swore that he could hear the cocoa-scented squares calling his name. Naturally, he broke off a row and began chewing, letting it melt in his mouth in a bundle of chocolatey, peanut butter goodness. Soooo good.

"Whose chocolate?" he asked, taking another bite.

Distracted, Blaise glanced over his shoulder. "What are you—_NO_!" He hit the pause button and then came rushing over, snatching the block of chocolate from Draco's hands. "Oh, man, you've already eaten most of it. Quick, spit it out. Maybe we can still salvage it somehow."

A crease formed on Draco's brow. "What the hell, Blaise? It's just chocolate." He glanced at Theo for support, but the brunet had his gaze fixed on the hallway that led to the bedrooms, looking like he was about to bolt any second. Suddenly, a sinking feeling formed in the pit of Draco's stomach. "Don't tell me," he muttered.

"Weasley," the three men said in unison, as if the name held the same terrifying power as Lord Voldemort, and should just as equally never be spoken.

There was a moment where they all held their breath, waiting, waiting, and then Draco heard the distinctive click of a door handle being turned, followed by footsteps. In a whoosh he exhaled, and then Blaise was shoving the chocolate back at him and making a mad dash for the armchair, while Theo picked up his magazine and held it so that it covered his face. Draco stared down at the wrapper in his hands, then quickly flung it away from him as if burned and joined Theo on the couch—and not a moment too soon. His back had barely pressed against the leather before Ginny appeared in the living area, wearing loose pyjama pants with teddy bears imprinted all over them and a plain red singlet. She looked harmless, except all three males knew from looking at the buzzy-bee hot water bottle she clutched to her stomach just how simple it would be to make her switch from cute redhead to vicious shrew.

She ran a hand through her tangled hair and frowned at Blaise. "Can you turn the volume down on your game? I can't read when all I can hear is explosions and gunfire."

"Sure thing," Blaise said a bit too enthusiastically.

Her eyebrows lifted a fraction, but if she found his eagerness to please a bit strange, she didn't comment on the matter and instead walked over to the cupboards and got out a glass, which she filled up with juice from the fridge. She leaned against the bench and took a small sip, watching the images flicker on the television. Draco was just beginning to relax again, thinking he was in the safe zone, when the redhead let out a small shriek. His shoulders tensed and he closed his eyes in a wince, already knowing what must have caused that indignant noise.

"Who's been into my chocolate?" she demanded, planting her glass down on the bench and stomping towards her flatmates. "Was it you, Blaise?"

The amber-eyed man shook his head, holding his hands up in an appeasing gesture. "I didn't touch it, I swear. I've been playing my game the whole ti—damn it! Think you can sneak up on me, you filthy locust! Let's see how you like my chainsaw!"

Ginny's eyebrows lifted higher, but Blaise was no longer paying attention to her, too busy trying to stop his character from dying. Even her Basilisk glare didn't work, yet instead of making her angrier (as Draco hoped it would, so that she might be distracted from the chocolate theft), Blaise's total absorption with the game somehow convinced her that he was indeed telling the truth. Draco thought he should have known. Ginny was like a trained hunting dog: once she got hold of a scent, she never gave up until she found her target.

Her gaze shifted to Theo, who still had the magazine covering his face and looked as if he was trying to sink into the seat and disappear from view. She eyed him in an assessing way and then rounded on Draco, her brown eyes sparkling with rage.

"It was you, wasn't it!" she declared, pointing the buzzy-bee hot water bottle at him like a wand.

Draco's mouth dropped open. "What makes you think it was me? Theo is sitting right there, you know."

To his surprise, Ginny leaned forward and planted her hands on either side of his face, trapping him in the cage of her arms. His breathing quickened, and he could feel the fluffy texture of the water bottle cover tickling his cheek, but it was the proximity of her body that truly unnerved them. She was so close that he could count every freckle on her nose.

Was she going to kiss him?

Slowly, very slowly, Ginny reached out and trailed her thumb across his bottom lip, then licked the tip of her thumb without once taking her eyes from his.

"Mmm," she mused, "is that chocolate I taste? And—" an exaggerated gasp "—a hint of peanut butter? Now I wonder why that would be. In fact—" she leaned even closer, so that their lips were a hairsbreadth apart and she was practically sitting on his lap "—your breath smells like chocolate as well."

Draco swallowed. Hard. "Weasley, I—"

Suddenly, something warm and fluffy hit him on the side of his head. "You git! I've told you idiots so many times not to steal my food, but you just—" She hit him again with the hot water bottle, then again as she made frustrated little sounds and struggled to articulate her rage.

Draco gripped her by the wrists and managed to knock the buzzy-bee hot water bottle out of her hand. "Damn it, Weasley, calm down!"

"Calm down?" she shrieked. "_Calm down_? My stomach feels like it's being scraped around from the inside with a blunt blade, I've had no sleep, I had to put up with stupid people at work all day, _you_ stole my chocolate, and now you're telling me to calm down?"

Draco blinked. "Wait, are you crying?"

She rubbed angrily at her eyes. "I'm not crying. I'm just tired, and my cramps hurt like hell, and you stole my bloody chocolate!"

Theo risked a glance over his magazine. "I believe this is where you pat her on the back and make soothing noises."

Ginny's face flushed a deep red. "Screw you, arseholes!" And with that she stomped off to her room and slammed the door shut.

Theo rubbed his chin. "You know, I just realised that females are like werewolves. Once a month they turn into monsters and only those men with a death sentence dare to get close."

"Does that mean chocolate is like their wolfsbane?" Blaise wondered aloud.

"Exactly, and Draco just ate Ginny's. No wonder she's pissed."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're both idiots." He got to his feet and picked up the buzzy-bee hot water bottle.

"Where are you going with that?" Theo asked, watching the blond head for the hallway.

"To return it to Weasley."

Blaise grinned. "Clearly has a death sente—OH, COME ON! I TOTALLY DODGED THAT HIT!"

Draco shook his head—one of these days he was going to chuck that stupid Xbox thing out the window—and stopped outside Ginny's room. He knocked twice and waited, staring down at the red and yellow bee stitched onto the fluffy covering of the hot water bottle.

"Sod off!" a muffled voice shouted from behind the door, and then something thumped against the wood. No doubt a pillow.

"I brought your hot water bottle for you."

There was a pause and then he heard feet shuffling towards him and the door opened a crack. A red-rimmed eye peered out at him. Wordlessly, he held the hot water bottle up for her to see, which she snatched from him with a muttered thanks.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Ginny shrugged and opened the door wider, allowing him to enter as she clambered back onto her bed and pulled a purple blanket around her. "Don't think this means I've forgiven you for stealing my chocolate," she grumbled.

Draco's mouth twitched into a smile. "Yeah, about that. I didn't realise it was yours."

Her eyes widened. "Wow, I must look really pathetic if _you're_ apologising to me."

"You know, I find that rather insulting. Here I am trying to be a good flatmate and you just go and throw it all back in my face and insinuate nasty things." He placed his hand against his heart. "I'm wounded, Weasley. Deeply wounded."

Ginny flopped against the bed. "Cut the dramatics, Draco. I'm not in the mood."

Some of the teasing light faded from his eyes. "Alright, fair enough. I actually came to ask if you wanted anything from the supermarket. I'm heading there now to pick up some things."

She hugged the hot water bottle closer to her stomach and glowered at him. "Yeah, you can get me more chocolate."

"Is that all?"

Her gaze lowered to her hands, and her voice softened a fraction. "Some ice cream?"

Draco repressed a smile. "Sure."

"Oh, and those mint biscuits I like, and—" she tapped a finger to her chin and then shook her head. "Nope, that's it."

Draco nodded and turned to leave when he felt a light tug on his wrist. He glanced down to see Ginny staring up at him with a shy smile. He didn't know why the sight made his stomach flutter.

"Um, thanks," she mumbled.

He blinked. "For what?"

"I know you're only doing this to cheer me up, and it's not like you had to—especially after I went crazy on you."

Draco's mouth twitched. "Crazy sounds about right. I don't think I'm ever going to live down defeat by buzzy-bee."

She laughed. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"So you should feel sorry. Need I remind you that I'm your flatmate, not one of your idiotic brothers who you can manhandle however you like." He paused and a wicked smirk curved his lips. "I won't say no to another lap dance, though."

"L-lap dance?" she spluttered, going red in the face. "_Malfoy_!"

But Draco had already gone, leaving only the ghost of his laughter echoing behind him.


End file.
